


I've Learned in Love and Death We Don't Decide

by grumpybell



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23303842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpybell/pseuds/grumpybell
Summary: He's still wearing his suit, tugging at the cuffs and not watching where he's going when he meets Clarke Griffin for the first time.ORBellamy and Clarke keep bumping into each other at inopportune times, but they figure out how to make it work.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 301
Kudos: 555





	1. Chapter 1

He's still wearing his suit, tugging at the cuffs and not watching where he's going when he meets Clarke Griffin for the first time. The jacket is a little short in the arms; it had belonged to Octavia's father, and it looks about how you'd expect a suit that's been sitting at the back of a closet for sixteen years to look. Outdated, a little musty, and, unfortunately short for him. He feels like he's playing dress up, pretending to be someone else in the ill fitting suit. Today, that's almost a relief.

Bellamy doesn't _meet_ Clarke so much as he barrels into her. It'd just started raining, the first few drops a cold kiss on the cheek. He'd quickened his steps, trying to pull the sleeves of the suit down by the wrists, annoyed at the way it dug into his underarms as he moved, and the next thing he knew, his body was colliding with something, someone, hard enough to send her stumbling.

He thinks what happens next can be blamed on the day he's been having. The woman catches her balance, just short of toppling over, and turns furious blue eyes on him. He says nothing. It's not that somewhere, in the back of his mind, he doesn't understand that this is the part where he should be apologizing, checking to make sure she's okay, it's that his synapses seem to be firing at a molasses slow speed. She doesn't wait long enough for him to get there.

“Excuse _you_ ,” she snaps, adjusting the stack of books and notebooks he's just now noticed she's carrying in the crook of her arm. He feels as if he's watching this whole day from a great distance, the world sliding in and out of focus. It can't matter, not really.

“Sorry,” he croaks, the right words to handle this interaction finally coming to him, or some of them. She looks at him then, really looks, and her forehead creases, her lips pressing down. The anger seeps out of her face. Bellamy knows he looks.... Well, he actually has no idea how he looks, in the too small suit with the world feeling very far away, but from the expression on her face, he guesses not good. He'd be surprised if he looks anything short of pitiful.

“Are you okay?” she asks. Maybe it's because she sounds genuinely concerned, maybe it's just because he's so tired; he hasn't properly slept in days and he's been prioritizing Octavia's emotions in all this, he's had to, but whatever the truth is, he opens his mouth to say _I'm fine_ , the same two words he's been repeating over and over again for the past 4 days, and he finds he can't quite get them out.

She's chewing on her bottom lip, watching him.

“You come from in there?” She tilts her head at the building behind him, all white, pillars and rose bushes and most importantly, the sign that's a little difficult to miss.

“Yeah,” he answers, slow. It's hard to find the words. He can feel them, just out of reach, like being underwater and looking up at the sunlight on the surface, needing to breathe before you can get there. “My mom....” He doesn't say anything else. He doesn't have to.

She shifts the books in her arms again, starts to say something, but before Bellamy has a chance to process it, the sky opens up. He shouldn't be surprised. He'd felt the warning drops a few moments before, but he'd already forgotten. It's a cold rain. He registers, a half second too slow, that her free hand is in his, warm and small, and then she's tugging him down the street, to a beat up green Volkswagen.

“My car,” she calls over the rain, and he doesn't really think about it, couldn't explain it to you, but somehow he's sitting in the passenger seat and the woman whose name he still doesn't know is cursing and dabbing at one of her notebooks with the hem of her t-shirt, the heat cranked up and rattling under the dash. He wonders, briefly, with a serious lack of concern, if he's technically just been kidnapped.

“Does this constitute a kidnapping?” He doesn't even mean to say it, it just slips out. She snorts, still focused on the notebook, blonde hair falling into her eyes, gold, like tendrils of sunlight.

“You got in of your own free will.”

“I could probably argue altered state of mind. Might win a court case.” Bellamy doesn't know what he's saying, like he's in the passenger seat of his own body and someone else is driving, or maybe it's no one, maybe it's just autopilot. Malfunctioning autopilot, at that.

She raises an eyebrow, smiling a little. It's only at this exact moment that he realizes how pretty she is. “Are you planning to take me to court?”

“I don't even know your name,” he says, sort of rediscovering the fact as he states it. Bellamy's usually good with people, has the kind of persuasive way with words that's gotten him into trouble one too many times, but he feels like all that skill has fled from his body, seeped out of his bones.

“And I don't know yours. I'm the woman who's just let a strange man she met on the street into her car. That's probably ill advised. Maybe _I_ could argue altered state of mind.” She grins at him, warm, and it passes through his head distantly that he likes her smile. “It's Clarke.”

“What?”

“My name, it's Clarke.”

“Oh, right.” He pauses, a moment too long. He's not himself today, he knows it. “I'm Bellamy.” She doesn't comment on how long it takes for him to get the words out. She's dancing carefully around the elephant in the room, and he appreciates it. He doesn't want to think about his mother, not in the only way Clarke now knows her.

“Whose suit is that?” Clarke asks.

“One of my mom's exes,” he answers automatically. It's probably the first thing that's come out of his mouth naturally today, that feels like him. There's no pain left there. He could have said 'my sister's dad's' but he doesn't want to talk about Octavia. “He left it when he left her. Took his El Camino and my cigarettes and his cat, and that's about it.”

“Sounds like a real winner.”

“He could have at least left the cigarettes,” Bellamy replies. He'd quit smoking later that year, but they'd been flat broke at the time, and he'll probably never get over the loss of that brand new pack. He hadn't even opened it yet. Bellamy becomes aware, with a shock followed swiftly by guilt, that he's smiling. And it's only then that he realizes he can't remember the last time he did it.

Clarke looks more relaxed than he's seen her so far; he probably freaked her out. If he were currently experiencing the full range of normal human emotion, he'd probably freak himself out. It's quiet in the car then, aside from the rain on the roof and the whirring of the air in the vents, the car working overtime to keep them warm. Clarke watches him, a gentle expression on her face, and he pushes away the intrusive thoughts that keep popping up, something like _'wow, she's really pretty'_ because he just can't deal with that today. Not today.

“Can I take you... somewhere? Home? A friends?” Clarke gestures at the steering wheel, like she needs to clarify how she would do so.

He doesn't want to go home. He wants to be anywhere but the sad little house that's so full of all the things he wants to forget just then. But he has to go home. He has to be there for Octavia. _It's worse for her_ , he tells himself. If he repeats it enough, he might learn to believe it.

He gives Clarke his address. They don't speak on the drive over. This whole thing is probably really weird for her. She probably regrets it. It should be weird for him too, he thinks, but doesn't feel it. That's good. That's better.

She pulls up in front of his house, and Bellamy feels like he's seeing it through a stranger's eyes. The grass is too tall, hasn't been mowed in ages. The paint is dull, flaking off the porch, which sags a little in the middle. One of the windows is boarded up from the time one of his mom's boyfriends... was it Carl? threw a chair through it and Bellamy's never gotten around to fixing it. Bellamy doesn't think about his home much, it just is, but he wonders what Clarke thinks. Her car is a piece of shit, but her clothes look nice, and there's something about the way she carries herself that makes him think money. It doesn't matter. There's no reason he'll ever see Clarke again.

“Thanks for the ride,” he says, quiet. He doesn't know what else to say. Bellamy pops the passenger door open and slides out, walking around the front of the car. It's still raining, but not so hard, the drops tiny but still cold when they hit the back of his neck. He gets three steps toward his house when her voice stops him dead.

“Hey!” He turns around to see her, window down, scribbling something on the edge of her notebook. She tears the corner of the page off to hand it out the window to him. “I know all this has been weird as shit, but I just thought.... I mean, I lost my dad a year ago and if you need to talk to someone...” She shrugs, a light blush on her cheeks. Bellamy takes the scrap of paper where she's scribbled her phone number. He doesn't know what to say to that, doesn't really know what to think. She doesn't know him, probably doesn't really want to. She's just being nice.

“Thanks,” he mumbles again.

Clarke looks like she wants to say something, then thinks better of it. She nods, once, rolls up her window, gives him a tiny wave, and then drives off down the street. Bellamy watches her turn the corner. In that moment, everything he's been denying crashes through his hastily constructed barriers. He feels more lost holding that scrap of paper, the rain getting caught in his hair, than he had standing at his mother's casket. He lets it take him.

* * *

Bellamy goes because Raven asks him to. It's been a year since he'd last been in this room, with it's thick carpet and cushioned folding chairs that do little in way of added comfort. A year, a house sold, a new job and a new apartment, Octavia off to live with her aunt, and him, suddenly alone in the world. It's all quieter than he ever expected.

He has a better suit this time, having finally broken down and bought one for himself once his boss started sending him to regular work dinners. He hates the dinners, full of stuffy old white men who think too much of themselves, but at least he doesn't have to sit through them with his circulation being cut off.

Bellamy's friendship with Raven is a little bit of a strange one, quick to clash, but tempered with an undercurrent of respect. If he's honest, they probably wouldn't be friends if they hadn't grown up together, part of the same group of neighborhood kids, and as shitty as their neighborhood was, he thinks that made them closer, and because of that she's practically family. She'd come to his mom's funeral, at this same fucking awful funeral parlor, so he can't bring himself to say no when she asks him to be there for this. He never liked Finn, but he didn't want him to die.

The funeral is hard for Bellamy, but not in the way you'd expect. Mostly it's because Raven cries when she talks about Finn, and he doesn't deserve her tears, but now Bellamy can't ever say that. It doesn't make it less true; he just has to keep that to himself now. He's privately trying to work through if it's okay for him to still think Finn was a dick now that he's dead.

It's not until after the service that he spots Clarke. It takes him three long seconds to place her. It's been a year and he hadn't called her. Not because he wasn't ever tempted to, but because he didn't think she'd really meant it. When he looks back on that day, she's the little bit of grace he'd been given. He'd been afraid if he tried to take more than that, he'd ruin it. It feels stupid, looking at her now.

She's tucked in a back corner, looking pale and a little scared. He knows that feeling, hates that she's feeling it. Bellamy's feet are moving before he thinks about, like there's a magnet pulling him in her direction. He doesn't have a choice, he just goes, one foot in front of the other until he's standing next to her.

“We've got to stop meeting like this,” Bellamy jokes weakly, cringing a little internally, possibly the most tactless introduction he's ever managed. She might not even remember him. And god, who jokes around at a funeral? Bellamy isn't sure what emotions he's _supposed_ to be experiencing today, most things about his mother's funeral has faded into a slightly painful blur, but he's almost certain it's not what he's feeling.

Clarke blinks up at him from her chair, eyes big and shiny and sad. “Hey,” she says, quiet.

“Hey,” he says back, wondering if he should sit down or just keep towering over her.

“You know- knew Finn?” she asks, stuttering over the sudden tense change. Bellamy's not sure he's ever seen such raw vulnerability on someone's face. Raven's been managing the whole thing by visibly clamping down on her emotions and snapping at people who hit too close to them. Her speech during the service was the first time he'd seen her cry since Finn died.

“I know Raven,” Bellamy responds. He figures anyone who knew Finn knows Raven, since the two of them were practically joined at the hip, but anyone who knows them _well,_ knows what's been going on between them the last few months, knows what that distinction means. He's taking sides, about as subtly as he can be. He swears Clarke actually flinches, a tiny movement, but there all the same. Something shutters in her eyes.

“Are you-” He's glad she interrupts him before he can finish the question because _are you okay?_ is possibly the most ridiculous thing you can ask someone who is visibly upset at a funeral.

“I was Finn's other girlfriend,” Clarke says quickly. “It was a couple months ago. I didn't know about Raven. We broke up when I found out, but I- I wanted to just hate him, but I couldn't. I don't think Raven would want to see me here, though, so I should really go before...”

It's a lot to process. Bellamy thought he knew all the sordid little details, since Raven hadn't exactly hidden them in her explosion at the situation, but no one had ever told him _who_ Raven had caught Finn with. It hadn't really seemed important. _“He's been fucking some other girl,”_ Raven had said, jaw like steel, and that had been plenty of information for Bellamy. He never liked Finn, not even as kids. While growing up together had made Raven and Bellamy close, like cousins maybe, it had taken a dramatically different turn for her and Finn. Bellamy has a hard time remembering them _not_ together. It had just sort of been a fact of the universe. The two of them were a set, always together. But Bellamy had never been able to quite gel with Finn, and they tended to avoid each other. When he'd heard that Raven had caught Finn cheating, he'd been angry, but not surprised. No one had ever mentioned the name Clarke. After her initial anger, Raven had done what Bellamy is pretty sure he could never do and tried to get past it, tried to mend the relationship. He's not really sure it was working, but now they'll never know.

Clarke must have been waiting for his answer, one he's forgotten to give, because she shrugs a little, awkward, and stands up. “I should really go before Raven sees me. Bye Bellamy.”

She's gone so fast, he's left standing there, blinking, watching her golden hair disappear in the crowd, headed for the door. Bellamy looks back, over his shoulder, to where Raven is at the front of the funeral parlor. She's got Gina and Emori flanking her like bodyguards, and that does it. Raven doesn't need him right now- the girls are more than capable of handling it. He takes off after Clarke.

Bellamy catches up to her on the steps outside. “Hey, wait!” He's embarrassingly a little breathless by the time he reaches her. “Do you want to get a coffee or something?”

She stares at him. “I- Aren't you supposed to be here?”

“Raven's got better people looking out for her right now and... Look, I know I was kind of a fucking mess the last time you saw me, but I guess that's the point. I didn't express it well at the time, but you were kind of the only good thing about that day, and I'd like to return the favor, if I can.”

After one long moment, she nods. “Okay, yeah.”

They walk to a Starbucks two streets over, the silence a little more awkward than Bellamy remembers it being last time, but last time he'd been a complete wreck, so that might have something to do with it. It's almost as cold as the day they met, but the sky is a bright, clear blue, not a cloud in sight. It feels like last year; it doesn't. Somehow, both are simultaneously true.

Clarke orders one of the weird iced teas at Starbucks, despite the frigid weather, her voice low and subdued. Bellamy orders a coffee, black, and shuffles his feet nervously while he waits for it come up, a bad habit from childhood he's never kicked. He joins Clarke at the small two person table in the corner she's chosen with his caffeine reinforcement.

Clarke's looking out the window, so he almost misses it when she says, “You never called me.”

“I didn't think you really wanted me to.” It's the truth. He'd been at rock bottom when they met. Why would she have wanted anything to do with that?

She meets his eyes briefly. “It would have been nice to know you were okay.”

That knocks the wind out of him. It had never occurred to him that she might wonder, worry even. Bellamy hadn't thought he could mean that much to a virtual stranger, but she's right, because in her position, he would have wondered. He would have worried. She's moved on before he can process it.

“I felt like I had to go to the funeral, even if it ended with Raven yelling at me.” Clarke's stirring her drink with her straw, staring into it and not meeting his eyes. “Even after I dumped Finn, he wouldn't stop trying to talk to me,” she says softly. “I told him no, of course, obviously, I knew he was still with Raven and even if he wasn't... I couldn't trust him. But he just wouldn't give up.” Clarke's hand is trembling a little. Bellamy resists the urge to reach out across the table and take it between his.

“He was coming to see me,” Clarke says, her voice thick, a glossy sheen predicting tears in her eyes. “I told him to stop, not to come, but he was doing it anyway. He was coming to see me and he died.”

“It's not your fault, Clarke.” The words are out of his mouth before he thinks about how useless they really are.

“I know,” she whispers. “I know. I know, it's just... I could have been harder on him, after the whole break up. I could have pushed him away harder than I did. I think some sick part of me was flattered that even when he'd been caught he wasn't willing to just give me up, that I meant that much to someone. And that's so fucked up, you know? It's not even true. I was just some girl, probably not the first girl, even, that he thought was hot enough to lie to in order to sleep with. After, when he was trying to get me back, he kept saying he would break up with Raven for me. I dunno, maybe he would have, but he definitely wasn't going to do it unless I committed to him first, so he didn't care enough to risk losing her. It's just. It's all so fucked up and I really fucking wish I could just hate him, but not all of me does.”

“Finn made his own decisions,” Bellamy says, a little desperate for her to believe him. He doesn't understand how someone like Finn Collins caused so much damage, both in life and death. “He chose to behave the way he did, and you couldn't have changed what happened to him. It was an accident. It could have happened at any time to anyone. It's not because you weren't harsh enough when he screwed you over.”

Clarke's quiet for a long time. “I don't think Raven knows he didn't stop trying with me. I think it's better that way. She can remember him better than he was, she deserves to get to do that if she wants.”

He thinks, wildly, for one self centered moment, that maybe if he'd called Clarke back when she'd given him her number, all this with Finn never would have happened. Bellamy shoves the thought away. It doesn't work like that.

“I won't tell her,” Bellamy confirms. Clarke's right. It's not about what Finn deserves, it's about what Raven deserves, and if she can find peace in remembering the better parts of him and erasing the rest, then she gets to do that. Finn owes her that. Clarke nods, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

They talk about easy things after that. Bellamy tells her about his job at a publisher's, which he has a love/hate relationship with. Clarke's in graduate school for architecture.

“I've always loved to draw,” she explains to him, “but my mother thought that art was an impractical career choice, so I just tried to do something that let me incorporate some artistic design and drawing into it.”

He learns her mother is a surgeon, and her father was an engineer before he passed away of cancer two years previously. Bellamy talks around the stuff he doesn't really want to say. He tells Clarke about Octavia, but skirts around their complicated family dynamics.

“She lives with her aunt. She was only sixteen when our mom died last year, and after I sold our mom's house and got a new place if she moved in with me she'd have had to change high schools and everything. I don't know if I could have gotten custody anyway.”

It's surprisingly easy to talk to Clarke. She's a little raw and worn out, but there's a light in her eyes when he manages to coax a laugh out of her with a story about his friend Murphy, and she's still as pretty as she was last year. He still likes her smile.

Eventually, long after they've both finished their drinks, Clarke's phone rings. The smile slides off her face, and she silences the phone, but when she looks up, he knows she's going. She gives him an apologetic half smile.

“Gotta go?” he guesses.

“Yeah.”

“I'll walk you back,” Bellamy half offers, half states. He likes Clarke. He actually likes Clarke so much that he's a little mad at himself for never calling her. God, he really is an idiot isn't he? Clarke catches his eye and he knows the answer.

“Is your number the same?” He asks, when they're standing in a slightly uncomfortable silence next to Clarke's car. He'd keyed Clarke's number into his phone only moments after he'd gotten home that day, even though he never called it, where it's been sitting in his contacts for the past year.

“Yeah, but I don't know why I should expect you to call me this time.” Her voice is teasing, still strained at the edges, but trying.

“Because this time I'm the one who'll worry.”

Clarke blinks, and he's afraid he's ruined the lighter mood she'd just set, but then she takes two steps forward and hugs him. He barely has time to get his arms up around her, before she's backing away again, cheeks pink, but smiling.

“Bye, Bellamy,” Clarke murmurs.

This time, as he watches her car disappear down the street and turn the corner, he feels warmth in his chest and that odd indescribable feeling of being seen. He lets it take him.


	2. Chapter 2

Bellamy gives it 48 hours before he calls her. It's about half an hour after he's finished dinner, and he forces himself to wash the dishes and put them away before he calls, trying not to overthink absolutely everything. Clarke answers after the third ring, sounding a little distracted.

“Hello?”

“Hey, this is Bellamy.”

“Oh, hey.” Her voice is a few degrees warmer and Bellamy finds himself smiling. She sounds the slightest bit surprised, but not disappointed.

“Is this a bad time?” he asks, hoping it isn't, hoping she's glad he called. He thinks he hears someone cursing in the background, low and frustrated.

“What? Oh, no, my roommate's boyfriend is trying to fry some perogies and he's not getting along with the hot oil. Hold on,” the background noise fades until there's nothing. “Yeah, okay, hi.”

“Hi.” Bellamy can't stop grinning.

“You already said that.”

“So did you.”

“Yeah, well, I have a good excuse. I was so shocked you actually called me this time that I forgot to say anything else.” Her voice is lighter than it was the day of the funeral, for which he's infinitely grateful. He can almost picture her, pink in her cheeks, pleased with herself.

“You knew I'd call.”

Clarke laughs, and just for that Bellamy's so glad he did.

“I, uh,” Bellamy likes to think he's generally pretty good with people, but Clarke throws him a little off balance, “I thought maybe you'd want to get coffee tomorrow?”

Clarke's quiet just long enough that Bellamy thinks he might suffer heart failure. “I would, but I'm leaving to visit my mom for a week in the morning. She thought it would be good for me, you know, to get away.”

Something sinks a little in his chest. “Oh, okay.”

“When I get back,” Clarke adds quickly.

“Yeah, sure, sounds good.” It's not that Bellamy doesn't believe her, it's just... There's something fragile about this, whatever it is, and Bellamy can't help but feel it would be so easy for it all to just slip through his fingers.

“How was work?” Clarke changes the subject, and Bellamy tries to shake off the disappointment behind his ribs. “You said your boss was being stubborn about that manuscript?”

Bellamy snorts. That's a polite way to put it. “Fuck, yeah, it's been a nightmare.”

He doesn't mean to monopolize her whole evening, but it's too easy getting caught up in talking to Clarke, and it's not until she yawns on the other end of the phone and sighs, “I should probably go to bed,” that he realizes it's gotten late. She's right. He has work in the morning and he's already not going to get a lot of sleep. Generally, Bellamy is an early to bed early to rise kind of person, but he hadn't even noticed the time passing.

“Yeah, you're right, me too,” Bellamy says. He should say goodbye, hang up, but the words are stuck in his throat.

“Goodnight, Bellamy.”

“Night.”

He falls asleep with a gentle glow of happiness nestled just under his sternum, and when his alarm goes off, way too early, leaving him bleary and too tired, it's still there.

* * *

It becomes a pattern- come home from work, make dinner, call Clarke. Bellamy gets the impression that Clarke doesn't really have much to _do_ at her mother's house, and he's a welcome distraction. They don't talk about Finn or his mother or how they met again. Talking about those things would mean acknowledging the strangeness of all this, and Bellamy would rather not do that. It doesn't _feel_ strange, not unless he thinks about it all. He and Clarke just... work. He doesn't know how to explain that to himself, much less to anyone else.

When she gets back, it passes through Bellamy's head that he should ask to meet up again, but Octavia's staying for the weekend and he's busy, so he just... doesn't. It's not that he doesn't want to see Clarke, it's more that now he's spent more time _not_ actually seeing her, and it's become the way in which they operate. Bellamy isn't a big fan of social media, he doesn't generally talk to strangers on the internet, but he's starting to understand why people do. There's an ease to the friendship they've built.

Which isn't to say that they agree about everything, two months later, and he's had more arguments with Clarke than he can count, but at the end of the day they agree on more than they don't, and there's a softness to all of it. It's not serious, the way they argue.

Even though he talks to Clarke nearly every night, he doesn't tell anyone about her. He doesn't know how he would. It feels odd, keeping this part of his life that seems so big from all his friends, but his world with Clarke and his world with everyone else feel like separate bubbles, never touching. Even if he knew how to bring it up, he doesn't have anyone to tell. Raven is out for obvious reasons. Miller couldn't give less of a fuck. And Octavia... Well, Octavia would just pester him about it, and probably try to involve herself in some way. He supposes he could tell Murphy, not that he'd care much more than Miller, but Murphy has a smart mouth, and Bellamy's sure it would come back to haunt him. Besides, he doubts Clarke's told anyone about him either.

It's because of this, the fact that their worlds meet through texts and phone calls, in quiet times when others aren't around, that he thinks they haven't ever broached the subject of meeting up again. It's not like it wouldn't be the next logical step. They live in the same city, they've been talking practically every day for nearly five months. Why wouldn't they meet up? Except maybe that would burst this bubble, whatever it is, this peace where it's just them and the rest of the world means nothing, and that terrifies Bellamy a little bit.

Clarke knows him, but she also doesn't. She knows what he likes and the fastest way to piss him off. She knows his favorite TV shows and the latest book he's read. She knows about his sister, about the shitty neighborhood he grew up in, and all the crappy jobs he worked to get through school. She knows things about him he's never had the guts to tell anyone else. She knows his voice on the end of a telephone line. But she doesn't know the physicality of him. She doesn't know about the way he clenches his jaw when he's trying to hide a strong emotion, or the wide confident stance he takes when he feels anything but. She doesn't know the way he looks early in the morning when he tumbles out of bed with dark circles under his eyes, or about the glasses he wears when he's home alone. She doesn't know him as a solid, imperfect physical being, and there's something unspeakably scary about the idea that she could learn those things and no longer like him. Maybe it's not logical; after all, aren't we all more likely to gloss over the flaws of people we already care about? But it feels like a giant terrifying 'what if?' It feels safer knowing her with some distance. It never occurs to Bellamy that Clarke might be scared of all the same things in reverse.

What they have right now, it's easy. It's simple. Bellamy complains to her about his job, which he actually genuinely likes most of the time. He stresses about Octavia and his rent going up and the awful dinner parties his boss likes to send him to. He tells her about the books he's currently in love with, which she claims she doesn't have time to read, or the new recipe he's just tried. Sometimes they watch the same TV shows and compete on who can guess what's going to happen next. Clarke tells him about how complicated her relationship with her mother is, and the pendulum way it tends to swing between good and bad. She talks about her painting class, which is her favorite, and her other classes, which are demanding.

“I'm not sure I want to do this,” she admits, one night, when they've stayed up late.

“Your degree?” That surprises Bellamy. Clarke's put so much of herself into that degree, and she's not far off from finishing.

“Yeah.” There's a slight shuffling on her end of the phone. “I just... I don't love it.”

Architecture, because her mom thought Art was impractical. Bellamy gets it. He'd wanted to study ancient civilizations; that's not practical either.

“I know you don't have to do something you love, I mean, lots of people work jobs they don't love,” Clarke hurries on, before he can think of anything else to say. “I dunno, I'm so close, I should just finish the degree, right?”

“I don't know, Clarke.” Bellamy hesitates, turns the words over in his head. “I think you wouldn't bring this up if you didn't have serious reasons to consider it.”

Clarke lets out a soft breath. “What if I picked the wrong thing and miserable for the rest of my life?”

“Okay, well, I think that might be taking the situation a little _too_ seriously.” Bellamy is pretty sure he's had the same thought about so many of choices over the years. “If you finish your degree and you get a job and you hate it, you don't have to keep doing it, you know that, right? It's not like you've signed away your life on a contract saying ' _I'm going to down this career path and I can never change my mind, ever.'_ ”

“It does feel that way sometimes.”

“I know. But it's not.” He wishes he could see her face. Clarke's offered to video chat with him a few times, but Bellamy's front camera is completely busted. He'd bought his phone used. At the time it hadn't seemed like a big deal. There isn't anyone he'd been planning on needing to see.

“So what you're saying is that I should finish the degree,” Clarke lets out one long breath, somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

Bellamy thinks about something his mother had said to him once, back when he was in high school and exceptionally prone to self sabotage. “It's not that I think you should finish the degree, not if that's really not what you want. It's just... Do you not want to finish because you're sure it's something you don't want? Or because if you take away the option, the doors it opens, it's less to have to decide? Less to be afraid of?”

There is silence from Clarke's end of the phone.

“You don't have to know the answer right now,” Bellamy says, finally. “Just think about it.”

“Bell?” Clarke's voice is very quiet.

“Yeah?” Something about the way she just said his name makes his heart stumble a little in his chest.

“I just want you to know how much I... It just means a lot to me, that you really listen.”

“I-Yeah. I mean, I want to. I like listening to you.” Bellamy stumbles all over the words. He just wants her to know how much this is _not_ a burden to him. Talking to Clarke is probably the best part of his day.

Clarke snorts. “I like listening to you too.”

Bellamy opens his mouth, but he has no idea what he meant to say, all the words getting stuck in his throat. When he was a senior in high school, one of his teachers had written home about how persuasive and well spoken he was (it had not been a compliment, considering Bellamy had talked his class into walking out to protest the teacher's disciplinary methods). Bellamy wonders what ever happened to that kid. Surely he is not the man sitting here and tripping all over his own tongue.

“Even though you have terrible taste in Television.”

“Hey!” Bellamy protests, the ease slipping back into the conversation. “Project Runway is a dramatic, glorious, mess and I will not hear your slander.”

“They replaced _Tim Gunn!_ ” Clarke is laughing and Bellamy doesn't really care about anything else, not as long as she's laughing.

* * *

Octavia finds out about Clarke on accident. Or rather, Bellamy accidentally allows her to find out; Octavia did it on purpose.

“Who're you texting?” she'd asked, casual in a way that should have tipped him off immediately, but Clarke had been telling him a story about this guy in her class who thought he was Da Vinci reincarnated and he'd been a little distracted.

“Wha- Oh. Just Miller. He and Bryan have been fighting again, you know?”

“And he spills his guts to _you_ about it?” Octavia had responded skeptically.

“You know Miller doesn't spill his guts to anyone, he just vents a little,” Bellamy had replied and he'd thought that would be the end of it. It was, after all, a pretty valid and believable excuse. But then he'd made the mistake of setting his phone down on the kitchen counter while he was digging through the fridge, trying to come up with _something_ edible for dinner, and the next thing he knows-

“Who's Clarke?”

Bellamy just barely avoids smashing his head on the top of the fridge, straightening up so fast his spine cracks. Octavia is leaning casually on the counter across from him, his phone in hand, eyes skimming what could only be his private conversations with Clarke.

“Give me that,” Bellamy snaps, glowering at her, snatching the phone away. She lets it go with raised eyebrows.

“So, who is Clarke? And why do they have a crown emoji next to their name in your phone?”

“You shouldn't touch other people's shit, Octavia.”

“Your passcode is _my_ birthday, it's like you were begging for this to happen. Anyway, _who is Clarke?_ ”

“She's a friend.” Bellamy shoves his phone in his pocket and turns back to the fridge, desperately trying to get his heart rate under control. There are reasons he didn't want Octavia to know about Clarke, a lot of them, actually, and that's all crashing around his ears.

“A friend you're trying to hide from me?”

“It's complicated,” Bellamy grunts, trying to play at casualness as he checks the expiration date on the milk.

“So you're sleeping with her,” Octavia concludes.

“What? No. Not that it's any of your business.” Bellamy abandons his attempts with the fridge and turns back to face his sister, arms crossed across his chest. “She's a friend. That's all you need to know.”

Octavia narrows her eyes at him. Sometimes Bellamy forgets how much she looks like their mother, and then there are times it hits him. This one, the “I am not buying your bullshit and you better come clean now” look she's put on, is one of the least fair, he thinks. It's the exact expression their mother had worn, the one that always made him trip all over himself to explain things; he thinks Octavia knows it too.

“She has nothing to do with you, O.”

“I'm not twelve, Bellamy,” Octavia says, frustration tugging at the corners of her mouth. It's not like he isn't aware. His twelve year old sister liked chasing butterflies and ballet and always asked Bellamy to braid her hair. These days, Octavia favors rock climbing and leather jackets and has her motorcycle license. It fucking terrifies him. “You don't have to hide your girlfriends from me. I know you sleep around.”

“Clarke's not my girlfriend. _Or,_ ”he continues when Octavia opens her mouth to respond, “someone I am sleeping around with. She's my friend, and I shouldn't have to explain that if I don't want to.”

Octavia snorts. “Yeah, okay, we'll see how well that goes over when I say that to you about my next guy 'friend'.”

“That's different,” Bellamy defends. “You're still a minor, and I'm-”

“my _brother_ , not my legal guardian, in case you forgot.” Octavia flashes him a victorious smile.

“That's _different_ ,” Bellamy insists again, but he knows when he's lost an argument. He either lets this piece go, or he tells her about Clarke. And there's no way he's telling her about Clarke. Not when he doesn't really know... He doesn't know what Clarke is to him, really. She's special.

Bellamy must still be irritated later that night, after Octavia's gone to bed and he's finally laid back against his pillows and dialed Clarke's number, because the first thing she says to him after hearing his voice is-

“What's wrong?” Her voice is soft, low, and edged with genuine concern, and Bellamy just wants to melt into it, the tension of the day sliding from his shoulders.

“Nothing, really. I just... You know O stays with me most weekends and she's been a little... difficult, today, that's all. No big deal.”

“You're a good brother, Bellamy,” Clarke says softly. She always talks softly late at night, even though he knows her room isn't that close to her roommate's.

“I think it's harder now, you know, without Mom. I was always somewhere between parent and brother to her, but our mom always helped balance that out, smooth things over. And now I don't even see her most of the week.” He's never really talked to Clarke about this. He's told her a lot of about his childhood, but he's always danced around anything that got too close to his mother. It steps a little too close to the day they met.

Clarke takes it in stride. “It'll get easier. She's almost eighteen. Once she's legally allowed to make her own decisions about some of these things it'll make everything softer. I know, I was that kid.”

“At least you didn't have a motorcycle,” Bellamy sighs, and Clarke laughs on the other end of the phone.

“Yeah, but I did steal my mom's car and run away from home once,” She tells him, and then launches into the details of the story. Bellamy finds himself smiling, the tension all gone from his body and he drifts there, soaking in Clarke's voice, until he falls asleep.

* * *

It's a sunny and swelteringly hot day in late August when Bellamy finally sees Clarke face to face again. It doesn't go at all like how he's been imagining it for the past six months. Three weeks after their conversation, Clarke had decided to go through with her degree. She's even been taking summer classes, trying to squeeze in enough credits to graduate early at the end of the Fall semester. She's in finals, and has been texting him nonstop about her workload, somewhere between determined and distressed at all times. He keeps trying to talk her into taking breaks, but he's not sure she's listening. Clarke's a hard worker, and stubborn as hell.

 _Just take five minutes, drink a glass of water, and put your feet up,_ Bellamy texts. It's his fourth attempt that day to get her to stop working for even a moment. She'd ignored the first three.

 _I don't have time!_ Clarke texts back.

 _Yes, you do. You'll be able to get more done more quickly if you don't ignore your own needs._ He's already tried this line of reasoning, but he's honestly all out of ideas. On the phone at night, Clarke's sounded completely, achingly exhausted. He hates it, hates that she's always at the bottom of her own priority list.

_I will in fifteen minutes. I'm almost done with this draft._

_Fifteen minutes, promise?_

_Sure._ He doesn't believe her, but his lunch break is nearly over, so he tries to take deep breaths and trust that Clarke knows what she's doing. After all, she's almost done with school, she knows how to handle her workload, even if it worries him.

He spends the next two hours buried in manuscripts, which is usually one of his favorite things he deals with at work, but he can't stop wondering what Clarke's doing, if she took that break. Bellamy finally surfaces a little after 3:30, feeling like he's done enough work to justifiably take a fifteen minute break. He immediately pulls out his phone, frowning when he sees Clarke hasn't sent him anything new, and typing out a quick text.

_Did you take that break? You did promise._

He puts his phone down, fully prepared for something snarky from Clarke about how she didn't really _promise_ any minute, and picks up the book he's reading for fun. He can't concentrate. Clarke hasn't texted back by the time his break ends. He sends one last text before putting his phone away.

_Hey are you okay?_

Clarke still hasn't answered his texts an hour later. Bellamy doesn't want to be _that_ guy, the one who always has to know what a girl is doing, where she is, why she isn't answering him, but something twinges in his gut. This isn't like Clarke. When she gets busy in the middle of a conversation, she always sends him a quick text letting him know she has to go. And that's for minor conversations. This is him actively asking if she's alright. She wouldn't just leave him hanging.

Bellamy holds out the last half an hour of work, but doesn't get anything done, tapping his pen nervously and reading the same line of text over and over again. He's out the door as soon as his shift ends, forcing himself to get back to the rental car he's been driving this week before he calls her, heart in his throat, though he doesn't know why. He's overreacting, right?

“Hello?” The woman who answers the phone isn't Clarke.

“Hi, um, is Clarke there?” Bellamy asks, feeling foolish and even more concerned at the same time.

“Uh. Yeah, she's- Well, we're at the hospital-”

“What? What happened? Which hospital? Is she okay?” The questions tumble out of Bellamy's mouth, one after the other, sounding almost as panicked as he feels.

“She's fine! Well, not _fine_ , I mean, they say she'll be fine, they're saying exhaustion or something, and look I only answered this because of the way you show up in Clarke's contacts and everything but-”

“Which hospital?” Bellamy interrupts again, trying to remind himself to take deep breaths. He doesn't know who answered Clarke's phone and he honestly doesn't care. Everything in his body is just screaming _get there_.

“Arkadia Memorial, but I don't think-” Bellamy hangs up before she even finishes her sentence. He hasn't felt this shaky kind of panic since Octavia hurt herself bouldering last year. He has to take a couple of calming breaths before he starts the car. He doesn't think past _getting there_ , doesn't think about the fact that he never actually _sees_ Clarke, that they haven't seen each other in person in six months, he just goes.

Bellamy gets as far as the front entrance of the hospital, the car abandoned in the parking garage, when the automatic doors slide open and he finds himself facing three people. His focus goes directly to Clarke, who is being wheeled out the doors by someone in scrubs. The girl walking alongside them is blonde, about Clarke's age, and frowning- probably Harper, her roommate.

“Bellamy.” Clarke blinks up at him like she thinks he might disappear.

“What happened?” Is all he can think to ask, backing up as they finish wheeling Clarke out of the doors to the queue for pick up.

“Yep, that's the rude guy from your phone,” the girl who is probably Harper says. Bellamy ignores her.

“It's nothing,” Clarke says, flapping her hands a little at him, as if to brush off his concerns. “See, they're letting me go. I just overworked myself a bit.” As if this will negate the fact that they're having this conversation in front of the hospital she's apparently just been discharged from.

“She fainted.”

“Harper!”

“She passed out on campus and so they hauled her here and they say she's exhausted and dehydrated and shit, so she's pumped up on fluids and supposed to get some rest,” Harper finishes, like she can't hear Clarke's protests. Bellamy finds himself suddenly liking her more than he did a moment ago.

“We can take it from here,” Clarke tells the man pushing the wheelchair, getting to her feet, a little wobbly. Bellamy doesn't think about moving, just finds himself at her side, a steadying hand on her elbow. Clarke looks a little sheepish.

“So, I guess you didn't take that break,” Bellamy says, trying to smile at her, while his stomach does funny things. Her hair is longer than it was the last time he saw her, faded pink just a little at the tips.

“I'm fine,” Clarke insists.

Bellamy frowns. “That's not _exactly_ what the hospital said.”

“You don't know that. You weren't in there,” Clarke protests.

“That's not what the hospital said,” Harper chimes in. “I was in there.”

Bellamy thinks he actually might like Harper a lot.

“I'm fine guys, really. I feel a lot better.” Clarke says, apparently ignoring the fact that Bellamy is still supporting a portion of her bodyweight. Not that he minds.

“Well, regardless, I have to get you home,” Harper says. “You're under orders to rest and I'm going to have to book it to get to class on time.”

“I can do it,” Bellamy finds himself saying, no thought involved; that seems to be his MO today. Out of the corner of his eye, Bellamy can just barely see that Clarke has her face turned to him, so close, because she's still leaning on him a little.

Harper hesitates. “Are you sure?” She looks between the two of them, slow, like she's not quite sure what's going on here. Bellamy doesn't blame her, he's not quite sure either.

“It's okay, Harper. Go to class. Bellamy will take me home,” Clarke's voice is steady. Bellamy finally meets her eyes. She really does look tired, but under that, there's something warm.

“Alright.” Harper points an accusing finger at Clarke. “You better be resting when I get home.”

“I will!” Clarke insists.

“Bellamy, make sure Clarke rests,” Harper orders him.

“Yes, Ma'am.” Bellamy has to resist the urge to salute, her tone is so stern. Harper rolls her eyes at the pair of them, before heading off with a small wave. And then he's just standing in front of the hospital with Clarke, and the weirdness of the situation starts to set in.

For a long moment, they just stay like that, Bellamy's fingers curled around her arm, and Clarke with her head tilted back a little to look him in the eyes. It's hard to believe this is real.

“Hi.” Clarke breaks the silence.

“Hi.”

Clarke's lips twitch, a suppressed smile. “This is really not how I thought I'd see you again.”

“It's not exactly my ideal circumstances.”

“And you aren't even the one who ended up in the ER.”

Bellamy raises his eyebrows at her.

“Wait, don't say anything, I forgot who I was talking to. You'd definitely prefer to be the one in the ER.”

“Oh, I don't know, on this side of things I get to say 'I told you so' for forever.” Bellamy squeezes her elbow, so she knows he doesn't mean it. She's right. Of course she is. He'd always rather be the one hurt, between him and the people he cares about.

Clarke makes a face at him, nose scrunched up.

“Okay, you sit,” Bellamy says, trying to steer Clarke toward a bench by the front doors. “I'll go get the car.”

“I can walk to your car.”

“Nope. Sit.”

“You worry too much,” Clarke replies, though she's sitting now, feet tucked under the bench, looking up at him with an expression that says he's being ridiculous.

“You literally overworked yourself to the point of collapse.”

“That seems a little overdramatic.”

“Clarke.”

“Okay, I give up. I'm sitting.”

“I'll be right back.” Bellamy practically jogs back to the car, half worried Clarke will change her mind. She says she's fine, and he believes that she's convinced herself she is, but Clarke has the kind of personality that just doesn't know how to quit. Usually, it's something he admires about her. Right now, not so much.

Bellamy pulls the car around to the front and gets out to help Clarke into the passenger side, even though she grumbles a little under her breath about it. By the time Bellamy gets back to his side of the car and pulls away from the curb, Clarke has her head back against her headrest, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks for longer and longer. He wonders when she last slept.

“Hey,” he says, soft, feeling sorry that he has to disturb her, “ I don't know your address.”

Clarke mumbles off her address, while Bellamy keys it into his phone. It's on the other side of town, twenty minutes minimum.

She falls quiet after that, dozing in the passenger seat while Bellamy drives. It's all catching up to him. He's actually here, right now, with Clarke asleep in his car, while he drives her home. He thinks sometimes he might have forgot she's absolutely a real person. Despite the circumstances, he's glad he's been reminded. Being in the same space as Clarke, he can't imagine going back to only knowing her through his phone.

Bellamy curses quietly under his breath as the car in front of him comes to an abrupt halt. Their taillights are out.

“Bell?” Clarke's voice is small, sleepy.

“Mhm?” He's watching the car in front of him, trailing them with more distance, now that he knows their brake lights aren't working.

“I'm really glad you're here.”

Bellamy is pretty sure his heart has lodged somewhere in his throat and that's why words are hard to find. He glances over at her. She has her knees tucked up under her on the seat, her cheek tilted into her palm, eyes closed. She looks fragile, but in a peaceful way, different from how she'd looked at the funeral.

“Me too,” he tells her, sincere. Clarke doesn't open her eyes, but she also doesn't try to hide her smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!
> 
> y'all have been so incredibly kind about my abrupt reentry to the bellarke fic scene. I know, it's been forever, and I'm a mess. I hope you enjoy the update, ngl I wasn't 100% sure about this fic in the sense that it's... very soft. there will, of course, be some conflict/issues coming, but in a lot of ways I wrote this to just kind of... bask in bellarke and emotions and softness and anyway, you get the idea. I'm still thinking this will probably be 4 parts, but I'm not 100% sure yet. I'm hoping to do weekly updates, so it should take about 2 more weeks to complete (if I'm successful with my schedule). 
> 
> love you guys, let me know how you feel! <3


	3. Chapter 3

It's not that Bellamy forgets how he and Clarke met, or the unconventional way in which they've become friends. It's not that he's actively trying to _hide_ her from everyone (well, maybe from Raven, a little), it's just that version 2.0 of his relationship with Clarke, while definitely a step forward, still falls into an easily containable routine that doesn't touch the other parts of his life.

Bellamy works Monday through Friday. Tuesday nights are for the recreational soccer league Raven put together and insisted they all join. Thursday nights are for drinks with the whole crew at the crappy dive bar Murphy runs. Friday night through Sunday morning is for Octavia, a time he's not sure he'll get once she turns eighteen, one foot already out the door. But then Sundays, those are for Clarke.

Sometimes he goes over to her place, where he decides he definitely likes Harper and her boyfriend, Monty, but mostly she comes to his, because he doesn't have a roommate. And it's not like they _need_ privacy, they're just friends, but somehow being alone with Clarke lets Bellamy build that same bubble around their relationship they'd had when they'd only been calling and texting each other. It makes everything easier, softer. This way, no one can scrutinize it.

In person, Clarke reminds him a bit of the cat Octavia had adopted when she was ten, Athena. Bellamy had found the cat one winter morning, the first frost of the year, sleeping in the tire well of his car. Athena had been wary of strangers, projecting an aloof, occasionally haughty, exterior, always waiting for the tables to turn, expecting the worst. She'd taken months to warm up to anyone, but once she had, she'd become highly affectionate and fiercely loyal. Clarke has a lot of those qualities.

Bellamy has gotten used to reading Clarke through her silences, through her breath between words, through the slightest shift in her inflection. Now that he gets to see her face, he has so much information, he almost doesn't know what to do with it. Clarke isn't an incredibly animated person, but being able to watch the edges of her mouth turn down when she talks about her mom, the crease between her eyebrows at the mention of finishing school, even the tiny crinkles at the corners of her eyes when she tells him about her childhood best friend (Wells)... It feels like a revelation.

Bellamy feels like he gets so much more of her now. Clarke is stubborn and a little bossy and relentlessly makes fun of his taste in TV, but she's also sincere and clever and, once she relaxes, undeniably warm. Clarke's the sort of person who keeps her guard up. He'd seen it, those first two times they met in person, but it seems like through phone calls and texts, he'd found his way around it, so now he only sees it occasionally. It feels like a privilege, to be trusted by someone like Clarke Griffin.

“My mom is getting married,” Clarke tells him, sprawled out on his sofa with her bare feet propped up on his coffee table. Her toenails are a sparkly rose gold color.

“Is this a surprise?” Bellamy asks, nudging Clarke's legs out of the way as moves past her, balancing two large frozen margaritas (Clarke's favorite). Mostly, Clarke talks about her mom in relation to how frequently Clarke doesn't feel like she's good enough for her.

“I don't know. No, I guess.” Clarke takes the margarita he hands her with a barely restrained enthusiasm. Discussions of her mother are often bolstered by alcoholic beverages. “She and Marcus have been together for like eight months, but I guess I just... I thought he was rebound. I mean, she knew him for _years_ before my dad died, and they never got along very well. I kind of thought this whole thing was just an extended hate fuck.”

“For eight months?”

“It could happen.”

“So, when's the wedding?” Bellamy asks.

“Early December. That seems fast, doesn't it? I mean, it takes time to plan a wedding, right?” Clearly the whole thing bothers her a little bit. Bellamy's never really had the whole intact nuclear family thing, but Clarke had, up until her dad passed two and half years ago.

“Well, it's July, so that's five months.”

Clarke huffs at him. “Yeah, but it's my _mom_. She'll have a conniption if the napkins aren't the exact shade of eggshell white she wants or something. One time she had a meltdown about our crown moulding.” Her eyes have a little bit of a manic shine to them.

“What was wrong with it?”

“What?”

“The crown moulding.”

“I don't know, I don't remember. That's not the point-”

“What if it was serious?” Bellamy asks, before Clarke can continue spiraling.

“ _What_?”

“What if there was like black mold in the moulding? That stuff's deadly, you know?”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up,” but it worked because the little crease between Clarke's eyebrows is gone, her exasperation sounding more pleased than anything. He's a little proud of that.

“What about you?” Clarke asks, changing the subject. “What's going on in the life of Bellamy Blake? Please tell me so I can stop thinking about my mother's upcoming nuptials, and also how much I hate that word.”

The truth is, Bellamy's life is about as calm and settled as its ever been. He has a routine. He isn't solely responsible for Octavia. He has a good job, and a good group of friends, and Clarke. He has stresses at work, sometimes questions if he's doing what he wants, but overall, things are fine.

“Well,” Bellamy says slowly, “I met this girl.”

“Oh?” There's a little scrape in Clarke's voice, something that feels like a drag on her breezy tone. She takes a sip of her margarita.

“Yeah. It's a funny story. She tried to kidnap me after my mom's funeral.”

The corners of Clarke's lips lift. “That sounds like a red flag.”

“I dunno, I think she could be cool. Stubborn, though.”

“Hhmm.”

“Yeah, and I've already had to pick her up from the hospital once.”

“ _Had to?_ ” Clarke gasps, indignant, “I didn't even tell you I was there! That was Harper!”

Bellamy grins at her, and she elbows him in the ribs.

“You're an asshole,” Clarke mutters, grinning so her eyes crinkle up at the corners.

“Wanna watch We Bought The Farm and yell at them for picking the wrong house?” Bellamy asks. Clarke loves to hate watch tv more than anyone he knows.

“You have the _worst_ taste in TV,” she says, gleeful. Bellamy takes that as a yes.

A margarita and a half later for Clarke, and she's dozing, wrapped in a blanket she'd stolen off his bed, her legs curled up under her and her head on his shoulder. Bellamy's not sure when that happened, but he doesn't mind.

“Can I sleep here?” Clarke murmurs, almost too quiet for him to hear. On the TV a middle aged couple is considering a house with truly atrocious ranch themed décor.

“Sure,” Bellamy tells her, but she's already asleep. If Clarke were part of his friend group, he might snap a photo of her and send it to the group chat, what with her all wrapped in his blanket like a burrito, just the top of her face peeking out. But she's not.

When all this started, it just ultimately didn't seem that important. He was just getting to know Clarke, and her history with Finn meant that it just seemed logical to keep her separate from Raven and the rest of their mutual friends. But now... She's his best friend, Bellamy realizes with a surprised little jolt, unsure when that happened, and he can't even share that.

“They didn't pick the one with the wood paneling, did they?” Clarke asks, her voice a little muffled where she's turned her face into his chest.

“No, they picked the one with the pool.”

“Oh, good.” She sighs. “That's good.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy tells her, but what he's thinking is that Clarke isn't someone he wants to hide, but he's not sure he has any choice.

* * *

Going out for drinks with his friends on Thursday is a regular part of Bellamy's routine, one of his favorite parts of the week. Or, rather, it always has been. This week, with everyone packed around their usual table in the back, Murphy is insisting they participate in the trivia night he's trying to get started, one that mostly involves obscure criminal knowledge, and Bellamy can't help but think about how hilarious Clarke would find it. The sheer absurdity is completely up her alley. Except, that only makes him aware that he can't bring Clarke here.

He thinks that most of his friends could get past Clarke's history with Finn, it's not like any of that had been her fault, but Raven is still viscerally raw from the past year. He'd never seen her as hurt and angry as she was over Finn's betrayal until he died. Since then, she's hardly spoken of him, but any time his name comes up in conversation, her face has shuttered, the light dying in her eyes.

Bellamy doesn't know how he can even think of bringing Clarke here when Raven can hardly bear to even hear Finn's name. For the rest of them, any negative feelings toward Clarke aren't personal. Gina and Emori are Raven's best friends, and back when it all happened, he knows they took a very strong stance of “both Finn and that girl are trash,” but they didn't know Clarke, they didn't know Clarke _didn't_ _know_. Miller doesn't particularly like being involved in anyone else's business, and Bellamy knows he would take as neutral as stance as possible on the whole thing. Jasper and Maya are pretty wrapped up in their relationship, but he can't see either of them having a problem with Clarke. Murphy has a love/hate relationship with all of them, so that's nothing new. It's really just Raven.

Raven, who Bellamy has known his whole life, who is so wickedly, ferociously smart when it comes to academics, but who shies away from anything that exposes her vulnerabilities. She's one of the strongest people Bellamy knows. She's also one of the most sure she's right. When Raven feels intensely about something, it will take moving mountains to change her mind.

Everything would be different if Finn hadn't died. If Finn were still here, hanging out at their usual table, idealistic and optimistic and selfish, Bellamy would feel no shame in integrating Clarke into their friend group. Sure, it might be awkward at first, but it would be doable. He'd fight tooth and nail against anyone even _thinking_ to blame her for Finn's actions. They'd all get over it, even Raven. Okay, maybe not Finn, but Bellamy wouldn't care so much about that.

But instead, Finn is dead, and Raven looks so terrifyingly fragile whenever she hears his name, and Bellamy is pretty sure he knows what would happen if he brought Clarke here. It would bring up everything Raven can't bear to face, the not so good memories of the man she seems to be struggling so hard to figure out how to remember in the first place. It would be pain, but Raven would wield it like a weapon, turn it on Clarke because Finn's not here for her to be angry at anymore, and it wouldn't do anyone any good.

And yet... something inside of him is screaming to try. He can't even explain it, the way he leans over Maya and Jasper to put a hand on Raven's wrist.

“Can we talk?” Around them, trivia has completely broken down. It's become abundantly clear that what Murphy thinks is fairly average knowledge, absolutely isn't.

_What is the most standard household item to be used as a garrote?_

Miller and Bryan have wandered off toward the pool table. Gina has her legs swung over Emori's lap, their heads bent close together to talk over Murphy's questions. Raven is leaning back in her seat, her legs stretched out under the table like she does when her knee is hurting her.

“First you need to buy me a beer for missing soccer this week,” Raven says, her grin sharp. He would have bought her a beer regardless if she asked, and they both know it, but Raven would never miss an opportunity to guilt trip him about her soccer league. Bellamy is generally one of their better players, but he'd had to work late on Tuesday when his boss decided to move around deadlines in order to leave a day early for his vacation to the Poconos. Of course, his boss hadn't stayed late himself.

By the time Bellamy gets back with Raven's beer, the rest of their table has cleared out. Jasper and Maya are playing doubles pool with Miller and Bryan, and Gina and Emori have disappeared off to God knows where, probably smoking out back.

Bellamy slides Raven's beer across the table, and settles down with his own. He's thinking about how he might be able to approach the subject of Finn, how to bring up Clarke, his mind ticking along at a mile a minute, trying to parse out the exact right phrasing to keep his words from hitting all Raven's soft, sore spots. He knows her, he know her first instinct when she's cornered or startled is to come in swinging.

And that's when Raven says, “I think you should get back together with Gina.”

Bellamy chokes on his beer, barely managing not to spew it all over their table. This is not something he saw coming at _all_.

“ _What?_ ”

Raven shrugs, casual, but she's watching him out of the corner of her eye and Bellamy realizes that she planned this, she's _been_ planning this. He asked to talk to her, but this is something she's been meaning to bring up.

“She still likes you.”

“We dated in _high school_ ,” is all Bellamy can think to say. Gina is great. Gina had been an amazing first girlfriend, but they'd been fifteen when they got together, seventeen when they broke up, and as much as Bellamy doesn't regret any of that relationship, it's something he's so far beyond. He loves Gina, but he's definitely not _in love_ with Gina, and he's not sure he ever was. Infatuated? Definitely. In love? He's not so sure. Gina is just light, she sees the light in people. She'd seen it in him when a lot of people hadn't, and he'll always appreciate that, but the romantic spark is gone.

“So? People find their way back to each other.”

“Where the fuck is this coming from?”

“I noticed you've stopped sleeping around,” Raven says bluntly. She's never been one to dance around a subject, but their respective sex lives are usually somewhat off limits, mostly because Bellamy hadn't ever wanted to talk about Finn in any capacity and he and Raven are practically family, like cousins, so it just feels weird.

“Okay.” She's not wrong, he has. But he's not sure how that got her from there to _Bellamy and Gina should get back together_.

“I figured there was a reason,” Raven continues, eyebrows raised, “And Gina has been flirting with you again and...”

See, that's where she's wrong. There's not a reason. He's just been busy, and it had gotten kind of old. Maybe he's just maturing, maybe he just wants something else these days. He's busy and he's tired. And so what if he'd rather stay in and watch movies with Clarke than go pick some girl up at a bar? That's more fun, anyway, and... Maybe there's a reason. The problem is, that reason is definitely not Gina.

“I think you're misinterpreting the situation,” Bellamy manages, finally, heart beating a little too hard in his chest because he's not sure he was quite ready to face the very obvious explanation of why his behavior has shifted.

“I'm not.”

“And Gina doesn't still like me, that would be ridiculous. We've been broken up for like six years.”

Raven rolls her eyes at him like she thinks he's being intentionally thick. “She definitely likes you.”

“Raven.” The problem is, she's probably right about that. Gina is closer to Raven these days than she is to Bellamy, the inevitable result of the drifting post break up. But like he said to Raven, that was years ago. He just doesn't see why any of those feelings would be coming back around for her now. He tries to think back, _Gina's been flirting with you again_ , Raven had said, but he doesn't remember any of that. If she has, he hasn't noticed.

“Look, I'm just trying to help you out,” Raven tells him, the teasing gone from her voice.

“And if I don't want that?” Because this is not the conversation he meant to be having with her. He was supposed to figure out a way to feel out the situation with Clarke. Clarke, who is the primary, though not the only, reason this plan of Raven's is completely moot. He doesn't want to try again with Gina, no matter how wonderful she is. There is only one direction he wants to go, whichever one brings him closer to Clarke.

“My help? Or Gina?”

 _Either_. Bellamy hesitates. That seems like an unnecessarily cold thing to say.

Across the bar, Emori and Gina have come back in, arms linked. Emori yells for Raven across the crowd, gesturing toward the bar stools. Raven waves at them, but finishes her beer and gets to her feet, a little unsteady. Bellamy doesn't offer to help her, because he knows how much she hates that.

“Look,” Raven says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You guys were really good together. I know it's been a while, but you're lucky if you get that with someone. So, just think about it, okay?”

She walks away before Bellamy can figure out how to explain that he doesn't need to.

* * *

Clarke calls him on a Friday night while he's cooking dinner for Octavia. It wouldn't be weird, except Clarke never calls him when she knows Octavia will be around. She knows how much he values that time, and even though he wouldn't mind getting texts or photos or the occasional call from her during in it, Clarke tends to make herself scarce. So it is for this reason that he is already concerned when he answers the phone, stirring the curry he has on the stove with one hand.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” It's a relief already that it's actually Clarke on the other end of the phone. Some part of him had been braced for Harper, calling to tell him something had happened to Clarke, that she'd overworked herself again, or been in accident, or fallen ill, or a thousand other terrifying possibilities. Clarke sounds okay, a little hesitant, which is weird, but generally fine.

“Is everything okay?” Bellamy knows he must sound more concerned than he meant to, because Octavia looks up from her phone from where she's sitting at his kitchen table, eyebrows raised. He waves her off.

“Yeah. Sorry for calling right now, it's just...” Clarke's quiet for a moment. “I can't come over on Sunday because I have a funeral I have to go to.”

Bellamy's heart jumps up into his throat.

“It's okay!” She says quickly, “I mean, it's for my great uncle and he was 96, so it wasn't a huge shock or anything, and we weren't close, but my mom really wants me to be there, so... Yeah.”

“Oh, okay. I'm, uh, sorry for your loss?” It comes out more like a question than he means it to. It's just Bellamy feels a little like he doesn't have his footing in this conversation. Clarke doesn't sound _upset_ exactly, she just sounds... off.

“I was-” Clarke sighs, cutting herself off. “I was wondering if you'd go with me?” Bellamy barely has time to register the question before Clarke's talking again.

“I mean, I get that it's weird to ask. I know you didn't know him, and it's going to be full of my family, which is not a great selling point, trust me, but I-”

“Clarke.” Bellamy has to say her name twice to be heard over her rambling. He's distinctly aware of Octavia watching him from over her phone, but he refuses to meet her eyes and register her expression, whatever it is.

“It's okay, I'll go.” As fas as Bellamy's concerned, there's no other answer.

“You will?”

“Yeah, of course.” _Sundays are yours_ , he thinks, and it almost comes right out of his mouth. He stops himself, just in time.

“Thanks, Bell.” There's a softness in Clarke's voice that makes his heart turn over. “I'll text you the details. I should let you go. Octavia is over, isn't she?”

“Uh huh,” Bellamy says, because any mention of her is sure to pique Octavia's curiosity, though it seems he already has.

“She's trying to eavesdrop right now, isn't she?” The ease is back in Clarke's tone, dripping with amusement.

“Yep.”

Clarke laughs, and the sound of it makes his chest warm. “Okay, bye!”

Bellamy hangs up the phone, Octavia's gaze heavy on him.

“Don't say anything,” he tells her.

His sister snorts. “I don't have to. You already know.”

* * *

Clarke's great uncle, Arthur, had lived on some sort of ridiculous estate an hour outside of the city, and that's where the family is holding the funeral service. Apparently Arthur had been deeply afraid of being buried alive and had therefore opted for cremation, so the funeral takes place on a sprawling heavily manicured lawn, centered around what is indubitably an excessively large marble urn.

Bellamy isn't sure if it's appropriate to tell someone they look pretty at a funeral, but Clarke does. It's not so much what she's wearing- the same knee length black dress she'd worn to Finn's funeral, but with her hair is in some complicated braided updo and her shoes so pointy, they look like they could kill a man, but rather the soft, relaxed set to her shoulders, and the way the cool wind makes her nose just a little pink. It's October, and Clarke has finished her final project for her degree, all set to graduate in November. It's like a weight has been lifted off her. She still has classes, and a couple of written finals, but her thesis project is done. He knows how absurdly hard she worked on it, and seeing her without the burden of it hanging over her, she just glows.

It's a funeral, but it doesn't really feel like one. According to Clarke, Great Uncle Arthur hadn't been very fond of funerals. He'd left strict instructions that his was to take place outside, regardless of weather, and even outlined exactly who could speak, even which stories they were allowed to tell. Most of the approved stories involved someone getting drunk and passing out.

“He was a character,” Clarke murmurs to him, while one of Clarke's cousins is in the middle of a story involving being lost in Brooklyn at three in the morning.

“I'm getting that.”

It's a little chilly out, and over the course of the service, Clarke has leaned more and more into him, edging close enough that they're pressed together from shoulder to hip, trying to soak up his warmth. Bellamy doesn't mind.

On Clarke's other side, is her mother, _the_ Abby Griffin, sitting straight backed, with a slight disapproving tilt to her chin. Bellamy is pretty sure meeting Clarke's mom will stand out as the most stressful part of the day, maybe of his entire year.

Clarke had introduced them shortly after they arrived. Even if he hadn't heard stories about her, Bellamy thinks he would have been nervous to meet Clarke's mom. Even if she were just the somewhat distant and disapproving mother of one of his best friends, she would have freaked him out. But she also happens to be the mother of the woman he definitely has no so platonic feelings for; so there's that.

Abby had looked him over once, not quite judgmental, but definitely not warm, either. “Bellamy, was it? I guess I should be honored, Clarke doesn't usually introduce me to her lovers.”

“ _Mom_!” Clarke groaned, her cheeks going pink. “We've talked about that word! Please, stop. Partner is fine.” And then she'd tugged Bellamy off to their seats, like her mom hadn't just assumed they were a couple and Clarke hadn't done absolutely nothing to correct her.

He's still thinking about that now, twenty minutes into the service, when he should probably be listening to stories about wild Great Uncle Arthur instead. Clarke's hand lands on top of his where it's resting on the bench, a seemingly unconscious movement, perhaps as unconscious as Bellamy's instinct to turn his palm over and slide his fingers between hers. Clarke tilts her head to lean against his shoulder.

“Hey.” She's all pressed up against his side, her hand in his. Her voice is very quiet, soft so she won't disturb the proceedings. “Promise we'll never have to go to one of these for each other?”

“What?” Bellamy asks, a little distracted by the way her hair smells like lilacs, her head on his shoulder. “You making a plan for us to go out together?”

“Yeah.” He can hear the smile in her voice. “Anything that gets me is getting you too and vice versa. Don't make me live in this fucked up world without you.”

He doesn't think she has any idea how his heart turns over at that.

* * *

Bellamy doesn't really realize how much of his space has shifted just the tiniest bit to accommodate Clarke until Octavia points it out. There's a new blanket he keeps on his sofa because Clarke, no matter the temperature, _always_ wants a blanket when she watches TV. There's a monstrosity of a coffee mug, pastel pink with a glittery gold crown on the side, in his kitchen cabinet, which Clarke had brought over because she says his aren't big enough. ( _Okay, Princess_ , had been his response). His fridge now has a permanent stock of pamplemousse lacroix and greek yogurt. There are even a couple of Clarke's absurdly expensive bottles of hair product in his shower, which Bellamy is under strict orders not to touch. It doesn't seem odd to him. Clarke's here all the time. It's practical.

He doesn't realize it might be a little... much, until his sister is the one bringing it up.

“What the hell is this?”

Bellamy looks up from the manuscript he's reading to see Octavia clutching Clarke's pink coffee mug like it might have a contagious disease, her nose all crinkled up.

“That's Clarke's. Just put it in the cabinet and use a regular one.”

“Why is it here?”

“She doesn't like my coffee mugs,” Bellamy says absently, distracted by a misplaced comma in the manuscript in front of him.

“How much is she here?” Octavia's voice has shifted. There's something calculated about it now, and Bellamy's attention goes into full focus. He knows that tone.

“A couple times a week.” Bellamy crafts his response carefully, but hopes it comes off casual to Octavia, eyes fixed determinedly on the words in front of him so she can't try to read his expression. It's more than that, really. Sundays, all day, dinner on Monday and Wednesday. Sometimes she sleeps on the sofa. Okay, a lot of times she sleeps on the sofa.

“Does she live here when I'm not here?” Octavia asks bluntly.

Bellamy looks up, startled. “What?”

“Do you have a live in girlfriend you haven't told me about?”

“No! What the fuck, O? Clarke is my friend. She hangs out here some. That's all it is.” It's true, technically.

“None of your other friends have their shit all over your apartment.”

Also true. But Bellamy isn't exactly keen on the idea of explaining to Octavia that that probably has something to do with the fact that Clarke's different, that he's maybe a little bit in love with her. It's not information his sister needs to know.

“She's my best friend,” Bellamy finds himself saying, dodging around the other parts.

Octavia stares at him.

“What?”

“Miller is your best friend.”

“Well, yeah, sure, I didn't mean it like that. Of course he's my best friend too-”

“No. You don't have a best friend who you hide from everyone, who has special cups in your cabinet and shampoo in your shower and her own blanket on your sofa, who you _say_ you're not sleeping with, but who is practically _living_ here from what I can tell and you've made a point _not_ to introduce to anyone else in your life. I don't know what the fuck that is, but it's not just a best friend.” She hasn't directly said it, but Octavia's hurt. He can see it in the set of her jaw, that she feels excluded and confused and pushed away.

There's nothing else for it.

“Look, it's just...” He runs a hand through his hair. There's no taking this back once he says it. “Clarke used to date Finn.”

Octavia blinks. “She-”

“She was Finn's “other girlfriend” and _no_ , she didn't know about Raven, either. So excuse me if I don't think bringing her to fucking trivia night at Murphy's is a good idea.”

“Raven is gonna fucking kill you.”

“It's not really any of Raven's business.”

“If you really believe that, then why are you hiding Clarke?”

“Because it isn't her fault!” Bellamy snaps. It's not like he _likes_ that he can't talk to anyone else about Clarke. Sure, it's been kind of fun keeping her to himself, but he doesn't like that he can't take her out with his other friends, that she has to be so separate from everything, that he didn't even want Octavia to know.

“It's not Clarke's fault, and it's not Raven's fault. The only person who did anything wrong is Finn, and he's dead, so it comes off pretty shitty to trash talk him these days. And anyway, it doesn't matter that that's the truth. What matters is that Clarke shouldn't have to deal with our friends judging or hating her for Finn's dumb mistakes if she doesn't want to and Raven shouldn't have to see the girl her boyfriend was cheating on her with if she doesn't want to. So even though it's all Finn's fucking fault, it's staying separate. That's just how it is.”

Octavia's quiet for a moment. “Well that's never going to work, Bell.”

“Why not?”

“Because Raven is family, and if you haven't figured it out yet, you're stupidly into Clarke.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bellamy huffs, too irritated to even feel self conscious about admitting it.

“Good, at least you're not completely hopeless.”

* * *

Clarke graduates in the late afternoon on a clear day in mid-November, a crisp wind bringing just the edge of a chill to the air. The ceremony is modest, because most of the students graduate in the traditional spring ceremony in May. This makes it significantly harder for Bellamy to avoid running into Abby Griffin. It's not that Clarke's mom scares him, but... Well, yes, actually, she's kind of terrifying. And Bellamy has no idea what to say to her.

The graduation itself is pretty standard. The president of the college speaks, they have a guest speaker who is a big shot for some social media company that Bellamy isn't aware of, someone sings an upbeat song that Bellamy doesn't know, and then they finally start reading the names.

It's a relatively small ceremony, but still large enough that Bellamy can't really tell where Clarke is in the sea of caps and gowns. It feels, somehow, to Bellamy, not enough to mark the occasion. He knows how much of herself Clarke has put in to getting here; he knows how close she came to maybe not being here at all. It feels like there should be fireworks or canons or something.

The list of names seems to drag on forever, and then it's like it all happens very fast. Clarke is on the stage and someone is reading her name, and she's up there, close enough that Bellamy can see her smile, far enough away that he can't really see her eyes, and he's smiling back, despite the fact that she definitely can't see him, and the sun is so bright, and there's this great swelling in his chest- it's just so much. Then she's gone, and Bellamy honestly couldn't name a single person called after her. He's just riding the high of Clarke's moment, until it's all over and the audience is all clapping and the graduating students begin to disperse into the crowd.

He goes looking for Clarke, but she finds him first, a blur of blonde curls and black satin that barrels into him so hard he barely keeps his balance. Her enthusiasm is infectious. Bellamy finds himself smiling into her hair lifting her almost off her feet.

“It's done,” Clarke sighs. He probably wouldn't have heard her, but she's got her arms hooked firmly around his neck, her face tucked into the space by his collarbone.

“Congrats, Princess.” Clarke takes a little step back from him, but not enough to dislodge his hands from her waist, grinning up at him. Bellamy's worries it might be possible for a human heart to just explode.

Someone clears their throat from somewhere to his left. Clarke turns her head to look, but Bellamy doesn't; he's pretty sure he already knows.

“Hi, Mom.” Clarke still has her hands on his chest. Bellamy wonders if she can feel the nervous uptick of his heart.

Abby Griffin is perfectly pulled together in the way that makes Bellamy think of pearls and late afternoon cocktail parties. It's formal, a little pressed.

“Congratulations, Clarke.”

Clarke extricates herself from her embrace with Bellamy to go hug her mom. Bellamy hovers at the edges of their conversation for a moment, before Abby asks him to take photos. Clarke groans and rolls her eyes, but lets her mother spend the next ten minutes directing them both around to get solo shots of Clarke with her diploma (well, the diploma cover they hand you when you walk across the stage, not the real thing that they'll send in the mail later), as well as ones of Abby and Clarke together.

“Here, let me take some of you two,” Abby says, holding out a hand for Bellamy's phone.

“Oh, you don't need to,” Bellamy hesitates, glancing at Clarke.

“It's okay,” Clarke interjects. “We have plenty of photos.”

“Don't be ridiculous. You invited your boyfriend, you should get a photo with him. You can always delete it if you two break up.”

“Always the optimist, aren't you, Mom?”

Bellamy can't help but notice that, again, Clarke doesn't bother to correct her. He hopes neither of them notice the heat in his cheeks.

Abby is still holding her hand out for the phone. She is clearly not a woman who is used to being told no.

Clarke looks up at him, resigned. “It's faster just to humor her.”

So then they spend ten more minutes taking photos of him and Clarke together. Bellamy honestly can't bring himself to mind. Abby Griffin still terrifies him a little, but it's nice, in the late afternoon sunlight, with his arm wrapped around Clarke's shoulders, hers around his waist.

“Okay, that's _definitely_ enough,” Clarke finally puts an end to her mother's photo session, though she doesn't seem all that bothered either.

“Well don't blame me if you can't find one you like.”

“When have I ever done that?” Clarke asks, the slightest clip to her voice.

“I should probably get going. You two are off to dinner, right?” Bellamy isn't sure if there's a graceful way to exit this conversation.

“Actually,” Abby glances at her watch, gold, probably obscenely expensive, “I've been called in to the hospital. I put them off an hour, but I really need to go.”

Bellamy wonders if Abby notices the way Clarke's shoulders curve in just the slightest at her words, a resigned sort of disappointment that makes something dark and defensive uncurl behind his ribs. He wants to pull her back into his side, where she'd been tucked a moment earlier.

“Right.” Clarke's smile feels fixed at the edges, too practiced.

“I'm sure Bellamy will take great care of you.” Abby shoots a look his direction that he takes to mean he better. Well, he's not the one bailing on her, so he's not sure Abby has any room to judge.

“Of course.” Bellamy is proud that his voice comes out so civil.

“Fantastic.” Abby leans in to hug Clarke with one arm. “I'll call you tomorrow?”

“Sure.” Clarke watches her mother weave her way out of the crowd, and Bellamy finds he really doesn't care that he was supposed to meet up with his friends at the bar tonight, assuming Clarke would be busy with her mom, he's not going anywhere.

“So,” Bellamy says, pulling Clarke's attention back to him. “What absurdly expensive restaurant are we eating dinner at? On me, obviously.”

“Oh, no, Bell, you don't need to do that. Weren't you supposed to go out with Raven and Murphy and Miller tonight?”

“I can see those assholes anytime I want. It's not a big deal.” He tugs on the tassel hanging from her cap. “This is.”

“I don't know.” Clarke's still frowning. “You don't like fancy restaurants.”

She's right. But to be fair, Bellamy has pretty much only been to them for work related reasons. He doesn't really splurge on that sort of thing for himself. He doesn't see why he should, when he's a decent cook and could make half those meals for a fraction of the price. But that's not the point. This is a celebration, and Clarke deserves to be celebrated.

“But we're already dressed,” he argues. Bellamy's wearing what he usually does to work, black slacks and a white button down, rolled up to his elbows. So he's presentable, at least. And he knows Clarke is wearing a nice dress under her gown because she'd FaceTimed him last night, asking for his opinion.

“Come on,” Bellamy adds, “your mom is counting on me.”

“Fine,” Clarke gives in, sulking a little, but smiling when she thinks he can't see.

“You drove here, right?” He'd walked. The university is close to his apartment.

“Yeah.” And somehow, Clarke's hand is in his and she's tugging him down the sidewalk to her ugly monstrosity of a car. For a moment, Bellamy's back there, the day they met, Clarke pulling him along like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The inside of her car is exactly the same. There's still a terrible rattling sound under the dash, and Clarke has to try three times before the engine actually catches.

“Your car is complete trash, you know that, right?”

“Sssshh! He'll hear you!” They're still in park, Clarke having paused to strip out of her cap and gown and toss them in the back. She's wearing a blue dress under the gown. The color makes her eyes stand out in a way that has Bellamy's stomach a little fluttery.

“He's a car,” Bellamy says to reorient himself.

“Yes, but he gets his feelings hurt easily. You want to actually make it to the restaurant, don't you?” Clarke pats the dash gently.

“You're suggesting that he'll get offended and take it out on us? You do realize this is a _car_?”

“You don't know him like I do.”

Bellamy shakes his head at her, incredulous.

“Just be nice to him until we get to the restaurant.”

“Alright, alright!” Bellamy gives in. Taking his phone out of his pocket as Clarke pulls out of the parking lot to send a group text to the boys and Raven that he won't be able to make it tonight.

_Can't come out tonight, not feeling well. See you guys on Tuesday._

He keeps his phone out long enough to see Miller responds with a thumbs up emoji and Murphy texts back, _boo, you whore._ Bellamy puts the phone away.

“So where is it that we're going?” he asks.

“Nino's.” It's probably the most expensive Italian restaurant in the city, known for a fantastic wine selection. Bellamy's never been.

“That's okay, right?” Clarke asks, when he doesn't say anything. On a normal day, Bellamy would never go to Nino's, but today isn't a normal day, and looking across the car at Clarke, eyes wide and worried, he'd probably book them a flight to fucking Italy if he thought it would make her happy.

“Anything you want, Princess.”

They probably drink too much at dinner. Bellamy's 100% sure he's going to have a heart attack when his credit card bill comes in this month. But it's hard to care about that when they're getting a Lyft from the restaurant, laughing and bumping into each other, abandoning Clarke's car in the parking garage across the street. Good riddance, really, Bellamy thinks. That car is a menace.

Clarke leans on him on the ride back to his apartment, eyes half closed. Bellamy realizes, dimly, that maybe they're both a lot more drunk than he thought they were when the Lyft drops them off and it takes them about five minutes to make it up the stairs to his floor.

“We're going to watch Gladiator,” Clarke tells him, “And you're not going to complain about it.”

“Cheap move. I think using your graduation for such nefarious purposes is some form of emotional blackmail.”

“I don't think any of that is what that means,” Clarke responds, listing a little to the left and bumping into the wall. She's a couple of feet ahead of him, glancing back over her shoulder to tease him when he drops his keys.

Bellamy abandons the keys and instead snags Clarke around the waist from behind, lifting her up off the ground and into a swirling circle that has her screaming and laughing and when he sets her down, her head falls back against his shoulder while she giggles, trying to catch her breath. Bellamy curls inward around her naturally, pressing his smile into her neck.

The sound of something smashing to the floor brings him out of it, jerking his head upward, arms still around Clarke, to see Raven standing at the end of the hall in front of his door. She's standing over a mess of what looks like it was once a large bowl of pasta.

“Raven,” Bellamy says, unsure what comes next. Clarke has gone tense in his arms.

“Seriously?” Raven's tone is hard, the way she gets when she's wounded. “You fucking around with Finn's side chick?”

“Hey,” Bellamy starts, defensive, but Clarke squeezes his wrist and then steps forward, away from him, out of his arms and toward Raven. He has to restrain himself from reaching out for her.

“I didn't know about you, Raven,” Clarke says, holding her ground.

“Sure.”

“He lied to you. Why is it so hard to believe he lied to me?”

“Sorry,” Raven says, tone acidic, “but I wasn't actually talking to you. I was talking to my friend who I came over to check on, only to find out he's a liar who ditches his friends for some prissy-”

“You probably don't want to finish that sentence.” Bellamy almost doesn't recognize his own voice, it comes out so cold. He doesn't think he's spoken to Raven like that ever.

Raven blinks at him, eyes sliding between the two of them slowly, her expression stony. “So that's how it is? You're on _her_ side.”

“About this? Fuck, yeah. You're mad at me. Okay. That's not Clarke's fault.”

Raven's jaw clenches. Silence stretches out between them for a long moment. “Yeah, you're right. Fuck you and fuck whatever the hell this is,” she says, gesturing between him and Clarke. “I don't care. I don't give a fuck. But you should have told me.”

And Bellamy doesn't have a defense for that one, because, yeah, he really should have told her. He meant to, it just never seemed like the right time. This is worse.

Raven smiles, but it's furious, almost violent. “You two really deserve each other.”

And then she's shouldering past them, down the stairs, and gone. He's not really sure how long he and Clarke just stand there, not saying anything at all.

“Come on,” Bellamy says, when he feels sober enough, nudging Clarke toward his apartment. “Let's go in. You can make that hot chocolate you wanted and I'll clean this up.”

“Bell,” Clarke's face is all screwed up with a series of emotions he isn't sure he wants to understand. Guilt seems to be the most predominant one, and absolutely none of this is her fault.

“It's okay. Let's not talk about it tonight, okay? Go make your hot chocolate.”

She hesitates, but she goes, bustling around the kitchen while Bellamy cleans up the mess all over the hallway, glass and spaghetti and tomato sauce.

After, they watch Gladiator on the sofa, Clarke curled under her blanket. Everything feels subdued, like Raven took some vital piece of the night with her when she left. Thirty minutes in, Clarke takes his hand, fingers sliding between his, and Bellamy uses it to tug her a little closer, like just Clarke's warmth can fix everything. Sometimes, he's not so sure it can't.

Sometime before the movie is even over, Clarke falls asleep. Bellamy has no idea how she can do that. He's never able to sleep through a movie. And even though she isn't awake to complain to him if he just turns it off, Bellamy sits through the rest, not wanting to get up, not wanting to let go of her hand. But when the movie ends, Bellamy makes sure Clarke isn't wearing her shoes and that her blanket is covering her from shoulder to toe, and then he stumbles off to bed. If he doesn't think too hard, maybe he'll even forget the way Raven's face had gone so cold, or the little tremor in Clarke's voice when she faced her. Maybe he'll forget that even though he knows he fucked up, he's still not sure how he could have done things different.

Bellamy wakes up sometimes after two in the morning, according to the clock beside his bed. It takes him a few disorienting moments to realize what woke him.

Clarke's standing in the doorway, blanket draped over her shoulders, haloed by light. Even with the events of the evening hanging over them like a dark cloud, the sight of her makes Bellamy's chest light up with warmth.

“Hey,” he says groggily, pushing up on his elbows to get a better look at her, her wide eyes and vulnerable expression.

Clarke shifts her weight between feet. “Can I sleep in here tonight?”

“Yeah, of course.” Bellamy's answer is automatic, before he even has time to think about it. He just always wants Clarke close.

She crosses the distance to his bed and clambers right in, like she owns the place, an elbow in his ribs that has him groaning while she gets settled. But then Clarke's all pressed up against him, soft and warm and sighing contentedly into his chest, arm draped over his ribs. He could live like this all the time.

Maybe, Bellamy thinks, as he drifts off again, Clarke nestled into his side, he should have done something differently. There has to have been a better way to handle everything with Raven. He should have talked to her a long time ago. Maybe he has some things he would go back and change. But he knows, right here in this moment, there's not a single thing he regrets about Clarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter should be titled "idiots in love" because... honestly that's what it is. I hope y'all are still enjoying some bellarke softness, because I'm just living in it right now and trying not to think about anything else. anyway, one more chapter! we've got some things to resolve- raven, gina, the fact that abby thinks bellamy and clarke have been a couple for at least a couple of months, lol. clarke perhaps meeting the friends??


	4. Chapter 4

The problem with trying to make up with Raven is that she refuses to talk to him. He calls her the morning after Clarke's graduation, a little hungover, watching Clarke sip tea on his sofa while she watches reruns of RuPaul's Drag Race. The call goes straight to voicemail. His texts go unanswered. A little after eleven, he gets a text from Emori that just says, _She's not going to talk to you right now._

“Anything?” Clarke has been chewing on her bottom lip all morning, leaving it red and slightly ragged. She's still wrapped in her blanket, a little mascara smudged under her eyes. Everything about her vulnerability makes Bellamy's mood soften.

“I think she's officially not speaking to me.” Bellamy hopes he sounds less bothered than he feels. He doesn't want Clarke to worry any more than she already is. There's nothing she can do, and this isn't her mess to clean up.

“I'm sorry. You had plans last night, I shouldn't have let you talk me into dinner. If you'd just met up with them like you were supposed to-”

“Hey,” Bellamy interrupts her. “That's not the problem. None of this is your fault.”

“But-”

“No, listen.” It feels very important to him that she understands this, so much so that the words seem to surge up his throat. “I shouldn't have lied to Raven about last night, but you didn't ask me to do that. I wanted to go to dinner with you instead of out with them. I chose how to handle it. I didn't talk to Raven about us being friends, even though I knew it could upset her, I guess because I didn't want to deal with upsetting her, but those were all my decisions. And look, maybe it makes me an asshole, but at the end of the day, I don't think it's fair for her to think our friendship is something she gets to dictate. I get why she's mad, but that doesn't mean she's completely right.”

Clarke's quiet, her gaze turned down. “But I'm what's in between you two.”

Bellamy feels it in the center of his chest, like a blow to his sternum that knocks the air right out of his lungs. If there is one thing he knows, it's that Clarke deserves none of the blame.

“Clarke.” She doesn't look and him and Bellamy needs her to look at him, so he finds himself sliding off the sofa to kneel in front of her. She's picking at her fingernails, hands in her lap. Bellamy takes them between his own; in his grasp they seem so small, pale and delicate.

“Look at me, please.” She does, tears in the corners of her eyes. He feels desperate to find a way to say it that it will sink in.

“My dishonesty and Raven's pride is what's between us. You trusted someone who willfully deceived you, and that sucks, but it's not something you owe anybody for. Raven doesn't get to decide that you're guilty just because she can't bear to blame Finn.”

He's making himself angry, thinking about it. Angry at Finn for somehow managing to leave such a mess behind him that it's still hurting people, at Raven for pinning that pain on Clarke, at himself for thinking lying about it wouldn't catch up to him.

“It's easier to say that's true than it is to believe it.” Clarke murmurs, gaze slipping back to where her hands are engulfed in his.

For the first time in months, Bellamy watches Clarke's walls slide back up, leaving him on the outside. It's a sense of loss, even with her sitting right here in front of him, hands in his. At heart, Bellamy is a caretaker, someone who compulsively wants to fix things for others. He doesn't know how to fix this, and that is terrifying.

“I'll go visit Raven tomorrow. I'll apologize and she'll get past it, eventually. You don't need to worry about it, okay? Everything is going to be fine.” Bellamy's not sure if he believes his own words. Raven is good at holding a grudge. He does think she'll come around, but he's not sure how long that might take. He doesn't feel like he can say any of that to Clarke, not this Clarke, who is retreating into herself and leaving him behind.

“Yeah,” Clarke says, which sounds less like an agreement than an empty shell of a word.

“Yeah?” Bellamy wants something more, but he's not even sure what that is.

“Yeah, let's watch Naked and Afraid and just not talk about it.” She's smiling at him, albeit weakly, tugging on his hands. She's making an effort, to pull them both out of this, and Bellamy wants it to work, so he lets Clarke drag him back up on the sofa and he doesn't let go of her hand. He can feel her pulse in her wrist under his fingers.

Clarke puts her head on his shoulder, and for a moment Bellamy's back at Great Uncle Arthur's funeral, lilacs and crisp October air, and Clarke all warm against his side, murmuring “ _Don't make me live in this fucked up world without you.”_ Bellamy thinks about how far away Clarke feels right now, even with her heartbeat against his fingertips and if he could, he would say it right back to her, right now. She's inside her own head, walls up, to some place he hasn't been invited and all Bellamy can think is, _Please don't go where I can't follow_.

* * *

Bellamy visits Raven's apartment the next morning. “Visit” might be a strong word, since she won't open her door. Bellamy knows she's in there. He'd texted ahead that he was coming over, and when he'd knocked the first time, Raven had yelled back _“Fuck off, Blake!”_

She hasn't said anything since, even though he's been hanging out in the hallway and periodically banging on her door, hoping she'll either get sick of his noise and come to tell him off, or eventually he'll catch her when she has to go somewhere. It's not Bellamy's favorite way to spend a morning, but he's come prepared, with a backpack of snacks and bottled water. This is not, after all, the first time that Raven has been pissed at him. Her anger is the cold kind, the freeze you out, wear you down, drown you in silence type. Bellamy's known Raven practically his whole life, so he's been on the receiving end of her anger more than once; it's never a pleasant experience.

This is just the first time he's not willing to concede everything to her. He owes her an apology, and he intends to deliver it. Everything else... that gets messy. It's not just about him, it's about Clarke too. And where he doesn't feel the need to push back for the sake of himself... Well, Clarke's a different story.

The sixth time he spends a full minute knocking, the door finally opens, but it isn't Raven.

“She doesn't want to see you.” Gina gives him a small, resigned smile as she steps out of Raven's apartment and into the hallway, carefully closing the door behind her. It would be so easy to step around her, to walk right in, whether Raven wants to see him or not. But this why Raven had sent Gina, because being rude to her feels equivalent to kicking a puppy or stealing candy from a baby. You just can't do it and not feel terrible about it.

“I really need to talk to her.”

Gina shakes her head. “She's really upset. What did you even _do_?”

Bellamy blinks, startled. “She didn't tell you?”

“No, she won't talk about it.” Gina leans back against Raven's door, watching him, thoughtful. “So, what did you do?”

“I should probably talk to Raven about it first. It's... complicated.” Bellamy runs a hand through his hair. He's not sure why Raven hasn't told anyone about Clarke. Is it foolish to hope that it might be because some part of her understands? Probably. It's more likely she just doesn't want to talk about it, about Clarke, or even more so, about Finn.

Gina puts a gentle hand on his wrist. “Hey. We all know you wouldn't do something to intentionally hurt her.”

“Raven probably doesn't see it that way.”

“You know Raven. She doesn't come around easily. Give her some space to sort through whatever is going on.” And Bellamy wishes he could, but Raven doesn't really understand the situation. She thinks things about him and Clarke that aren't true, and he's not sure it's a good idea to let those stew. Not to mention, he can't stand the distance that's opened up between him and Clarke since Raven got in the middle of it. There are more things hanging in the balance than just Raven's anger.

“Bell.” He only just registers the way Gina's fingers have curled over the bones in his wrist, where his pulse is steady and slow, and then she's pushed up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

For a moment, he stands there, uncomprehending, Gina's lips warm against his. Then something behind his sternum lurches uncomfortably, and Bellamy finds himself unconsciously taking a step back, out of her space.

Gina blinks up at him.

“I-” Bellamy takes another small step back. “I'm sorry.” He feels as if his brain has short circuited. He's suddenly thinking about Raven telling him Gina still liked him, how he'd _known_ , but in the face of everything, it had just kind of drifted away, felt unimportant. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised, but he _is_.

Gina's responding smile is small, maybe a little sad at the edges. “It's okay. It was a long shot, I guess.” Bellamy wants to reach out, to hug her, to tell her that he loves her just not like _that_ , but that seems like it might cause more harm than anything. He's at a loss. The thing is, Gina is a really good person. She's just not _his_ person.

“It's not- There's a girl,” he says, finally. It's so much more complicated than that. Weirdly, he expects under slightly different circumstances, Gina might be one of the easiest people in his friend group to tell about Clarke, but not now, and anyway, he really needs to talk to Raven first.

“You don't owe me an explanation. It's okay, really.”

“I'm sorry if I've made you think-”

“No.” Gina shakes her head. “Please don't apologize.” She looks away from him. “I think I already knew. I just had to be sure.”

Bellamy searches for something to say, but all he can seem to come up with are more apologies, which she doesn't want from him. So instead, he stands there, hands limp at his sides, wishing he could go back in time five minutes and prevent this in the first place.

“Can we just... put this behind us?” Gina asks him, and Bellamy can't think of a single better outcome.

“Yeah, of course. Forgotten, okay?”

Gina meets his eyes again, warm, maybe still a little sad. “Come try to talk to Raven on Wednesday. Soccer league Tuesday night always puts her in a better mood.”

“Thanks.” Still, Bellamy hesitates. He'd planned to stay here as long as it took to speak to Raven, and leaving feels a little like giving up. On the other hand, leaving gives Gina some space that he thinks she definitely deserves.

“Can you give her something for me?” Bellamy asks. He'd meant it as a last resort, something to slip under her door if she didn't give in. But maybe this is as good as it's going to get. Bellamy reaches into his pocket and pulls out the folded over piece of paper. It's not an explanation, it just says _I'm sorry I lied to you,_ because he really can't get into anything else without seeing her in person. He's sorry he lied. He's not sorry about his relationship with Clarke.

Gina takes it from him, careful, like she doesn't want their fingers to touch, and Bellamy almost says something else, almost asks her if she's sure they're okay, but he thinks better of it. Instead, he picks his backup up from the floor and hoists it over his shoulder.

“Thanks.”

Gina watches him for a moment. “She'll come around.”

Bellamy thinks she really believes that, but that's the thing about Gina; she sees the best in everyone, even when most people would agree there's not much to see. He hopes in this case, she's right.

* * *

Clarke doesn't stop coming around to his place, she shows up the very next evening, just after dinner, but things feel different than they did before. Fragile. There's something in her eyes that isn't quite as open, and she seems to be choosing her words more carefully. Bellamy hates it. Maybe it isn't fair, but it makes him angry with Raven, when he catches Clarke retreating into herself, starting to say something, but cutting herself off, unsure. Things didn't have to be like this. He just can't work out how to change them.

“Gina texted you,” Clarke says, dragging him from his thoughts. She nudges his phone across the kitchen table toward him absently, she has her leg tucked up on the chair with her, painting her toenails a sparkly cherry red. Bellamy's been neck deep in a manuscript, but he hasn't been able to really concentrate on the words, instead just drifting back to Clarke and Raven, to betrayal and lies and pride.

The mention of Gina sets off a constellation of other feelings in his chest. Clarke isn't his girlfriend. Bellamy knows this, but it feels odd not to say anything about Gina, like he's hiding something from her. He doesn't want there to be secrets and lies between him and Clarke. He also doesn't really want to bring it up, either. He's got a weird amount of guilt surrounding it, considering he doesn't think anyone did anything wrong.

Clarke's concentration is so entirely on painting her toenails, her tongue trapped between her teeth and one eye squinted closed, certainly not looking at him, when Bellamy finds the courage to say-

“She kissed me yesterday.” Clarke pauses, her hand going still.

“Gina, I mean,” Bellamy clarifies, when Clarke doesn't do anything at all.

“Why?”

Bellamy wishes he could see her face. “I dunno. I mean, I guess she wanted to get back together, and apparently she's been flirting with me and I didn't realize it. She's great, I just... It's all in the past for me. It's not what I want. So that was awkward.” He has to force himself to stop rambling.

Clarke is back to painting her toenails. She never even looked up.

“How did she take that?” Her voice is oddly neutral.

“Fine. I think.” Bellamy can't tell how Clarke feels at all, and it makes him uneasy. He wants to offer up explanations, like he's done something wrong, but he _hasn't_ , and there's not really anything else to say about the situation. Gina kissed him, he turned her down, end of story. He's not even sure why he felt such a need to tell Clarke that.

“You know what?” Clarke says, suddenly, setting down her nail polish down and looking up at him. She doesn't look upset, but she doesn't look quite like herself, either. “I think I want a glass of wine.”

One glass of wine turns into several, and by the time Bellamy finishes up the work he'd brought home with him and joined Clarke on the sofa for a marathon session of Cake Boss, she's definitely tipsy. He hasn't been drinking. Bellamy learned a long time ago that his work notes when drunk are _far_ from helpful.

The thing about drunk Clarke is that she's hyper affectionate, tactile in a way that might border a little on inappropriate if their relationship is to be considered strictly platonic. Obviously it's not for _him_ , but Clarke is harder to read. Drunk Clarke, however, seems to have no qualms pretty much just climbing into his lap and watching TV with her cheek pressed to his chest. Not that Bellamy minds. Honestly, it's the first time he's seen her with her walls down since the night of her graduation, and he craves it, Clarke, unfiltered.

“Have you heard from Raven?” she asks into his chest. It's the most relaxed he's heard her sound about the subject.

“No. I'm going over again on Wednesday.”

“Hhmm,” Clarke says, her fingers tracing little lines along his collarbone. He doesn't think she knows she's doing it, but Bellamy is very aware.

“I know I need to apologize,” Bellamy tells her, because he thinks maybe this is the only time he can, with Clarke pliant and open. “But I'm still pissed at Raven too. She said things she shouldn't have.”

“Only because she's still hurting,” Clarke sighs. “She lost Finn.”

“I know. And this whole time, I've been trying to understand... I mean, I know they had been together a long time, but he was such a dick. He treated her like she was unimportant, like he could just do whatever and come right back. It's just difficult for me to understand how impossible it seems for her to move past him, when he never gave her what she deserved to begin with.”

“He was a good liar,” Clarke murmurs. “He was good at making you believe in him.”

“Yeah, but you seem pretty over it. You have for months and months.”

“Yeah, but that's different, Bell.”

“How so?”

Clarke lifts her head from his chest so she can look at him. Her eyes are wide, slightly blurry, her cheeks soft pink. “I met you.”

Bellamy's struck speechless.

“Hey!” Clarke says, bright and sudden, like she didn't just completely rip his heart of his chest and casually pocket it a moment before. “I've been meaning to ask you if you'll come with me to my mom's wedding.”

“I-” Bellamy's brain is trying to play catch up, his head still back with her previous words. _I met you_. He must stare dumbly at her for too long, because she starts backtracking.

“You don't _have_ to, obviously. I know my mom freaks you out, and she's a lot, but she's also nothing if not efficient, so the ceremony won't last that long, and she'll be busy mostly playing hostess at the reception, and the food is going to be _incredible_.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy manages, finally. “That's in a couple of weeks, right?”

“December 15th.” It's not like it matters, she's asked him, so he's going to go.

“I mean, who could say no to incredible free food?” It's not the food that Bellamy can't say no to. Clarke grins and ducks her head back into his chest. Bellamy unconsciously puts a hand on her hip to steady her, but Clarke lets out this soft sort of sigh and all Bellamy can think about is- _I met you_. He wants so badly to ask her about those words, the way they reverberate in his chest like they have a kinetic energy all their own, but the truth is, Clarke's a little drunk and he's not, and it wouldn't be fair.

On the TV, everyone is panicking about the 200 lbs octopus cake they're trying to get finished in time. Clarke's nearly asleep, Bellamy can tell by the way her breathing has gone all deep and slow, her fingers curled into the neck of his shirt. Bellamy tries to care about absolutely anything else, but in his head, there's just one thing, ringing clear-

_I met you._

* * *

As planned, Bellamy goes to try to talk to Raven on Wednesday evening after work. He's not convinced it will go any better than his last attempt, but he's determined to wait her out this time, if he has to. Raven's stubborn as hell, but so is he. Blakes don't just give up.

To his surprise, Raven answers the door the second time he knocks. She's scowling, arms crossed, but still, she answers.

“Raven-”

“You have Gina to thank for this. You have five minutes,” Raven talks over him, turning on her heel and storming away. Bellamy trails her, half reluctant to leave the safety of the hallway. Raven doesn't exactly look like she's any happier than she was the last time he saw her. Usually when he pisses Raven off, it's over something he doesn't really have to fight her on. This is a little different.

Raven has taken a seat at the big wooden table Bellamy helped her pick out at a yard sale two years ago, one which she's converted into a work table for her projects. It's pushed up against one wall, just under a window, and there are pieces and parts that Bellamy can't even begin to name scattered all over it. Raven's fiddling with what looks like half of a small engine, decidedly not looking at him.

Bellamy takes a deep breath to steady himself. He's had a lot of time to think about this, about where he stands.

“Four minutes,” Raven says, still not looking at him. Okay, so this is going to be like that. Bellamy gets straight to the point.

“I'm sorry I lied about why I wasn't meeting up with you guys last week. And I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about Clarke. I thought I was protecting your feelings, but you deserved more than that.” Bellamy finds himself feeling for the edges of his guilt, the line between his own fuck ups and Raven's judgment. “I didn't mean to hurt you, so I never should have lied.”

For a moment, the only sound in the apartment is the clink of metal from the tool in Raven's hands. She doesn't look anything, just perfectly controlled, and that scares him a little bit. He knows Raven, he knows she doesn't like to feel weak in front of people, particularly not someone who has hurt her, but usually there's just a sliver of that peeking through. Bellamy sees nothing.

Raven sets the tool down on the table and looks to window, instead of Bellamy. It's started to rain. She watches it streak down the glass, so still Bellamy almost wonders if she's not going to say anything at all, if he's going to stand here until his time runs out and she tells him to leave.

“We're supposed to be a family,” Raven says, the vulnerability that's missing from her face is in her voice, an undercurrent of anger and pain. “We're supposed to have each other's backs. And instead, you're off messing around with the girl who ruined my relationship.”

“Finn ruined your relationship.” Bellamy has never had the courage to say that her. It had seemed too harsh, a wound Finn's death had prevented her from ever really healing from. But Bellamy can't tiptoe around it anymore.

“And she-”

“ _Didn't know_. I get that you want to hate someone in this situation. And I get that he's gone, and it's easier for that to not be him, but Raven, he did the same thing to Clarke that he did to you.”

Raven is stonily silent and then, “And you just had to get your dick wet with her, despite everything.”

Bellamy swallows the anger that's burning up his throat. He wants to lash out at her. He wants to demand she stop talking about Clarke like that, like an object in a game, in graphic sexual terms, but that's all a distraction from the real point. Raven's fury is brutal, always designed to make the other person hit back. “It's not like that.”

Raven snorts. “You expect me to believe you're not fucking her? After what I saw?”

He's not, but that's not what he meant anyway. And it doesn't really matter. Raven's right that he would be sleeping with Clarke, if it were all up to him. Where she's wrong is the _why_.

“I love her.”

For the first time since he walked into the room, Raven looks him in the eyes. He's able to read a moment of surprise before she covers it. If she feels anything else, she doesn't give it away. He could leave it at that, maybe he should, but Bellamy's been thinking about this for days, what he needs her to know.

“It's not a fling. It's not some convenient fuck, like you seem to think, okay? I'm in love with her. And Clarke didn't do anything wrong. She didn't knowingly or intentionally hurt you. She dated a boy who lied to her, and to you. That's all.” Bellamy feels all the words rattling around in his chest, things he's wanted to say for a long time. “You and me? We _are_ family. When have we ever not been there for each other? But it's not fair for you to expect me to walk away from someone I love because of something Finn did. I won't do it. I'm really sorry I lied to you; I'm not sorry for caring about Clarke. So you let me know when you figure out if you can live with that or not.” Bellamy takes a step backwards towards the door. Raven's gaze has drifted to somewhere around his chest, a little vacant. There's one last thing, words in the back of this throat that he's not sure he has the courage to say. But that's why he's here, to clear the air, all of it.

“I know you love Finn, but he fucked up. He did. Not you. Not Clarke. I just hope you know you're allowed to love him and that still be the truth.”

There's very little Bellamy wouldn't do for Raven, but this is it. She doesn't say anything to stop him when he turns and walks away, but Bellamy doesn't expect her to. All he can do is hope that eventually she decides their friendship is worth more than idealizing Finn's memory.

* * *

Bellamy wakes up to his phone ringing at 2 AM on Friday night. His heart jumps straight into his throat, even as he fumbles to answer it. His first guess would normally be Octavia, but she's asleep on the sofa, so that leaves-

“Clarke?”

“I'm so sorry.” She says this very fast, but it's not so much the words, but the time, and the waver in her voice that makes Bellamy sit up straight, adrenaline surging in his veins.

“What? Are you okay? What's going on?”

“Yeah, I, kind of. I know it's the middle of the night and I know Octavia's there and I, I'm really sorry it's just, it's Harper's birthday and we were out at this club and she went home with Monty and I got half way back to our place, but my car's broken down and I called AAA and they said they'll be here in an hour and I'm supposed to wait, but there's this guy across the street that won't stop staring at the car and he's freaking me out, and he hasn't actually _done_ anything, but I'm panicking a little I think, and I don't know what to do-”

“Okay, okay, it's alright,” Bellamy says, already swinging his legs out of bed and searching for his shoes. “Send me your location, okay? Keep the doors locked. I'm gonna come get you.”

“Yeah.” Bellamy can hear Clarke sniffling a little on the other end of the phone. “Okay, yeah. Oh, but it's so late and-”

“Clarke. It's okay. Send me your location. I'll call you back in just a minute, yeah?”

“Okay,” Clarke says, a little calmer this time. “Okay. Thanks, Bell.”

The moment Clarke hangs up, Bellamy's dialing Miller. He's the only person Bellamy knows who he can call in the middle of the night to borrow a car. The four rings it takes for him to answer is the most Bellamy's ever regretted not owning his own car. Miller picks up just as Bellamy's attempting to wrestle a t-shirt over his head.

“The fuck?” is how Miller answers the phone.

“I need to borrow your truck.”

“Seriously, though, what the fuck? It's like three in the morning.”

“Yeah, I know. Look my-” Bellamy stumbles over how to explain the situation, “my girlfriend's car broke down and I need to go pick her up.”

“Since when do you have a girlfriend?” Miller asks, audibly yawning.

“I don't. I mean, she's not... exactly. That's not the point, can I come get the truck?”

“Fuck, fine, yeah. I'll put the keys out on the porch, please do not knock.”

“Thanks, man,” Bellamy says, relieved. He's fully dressed now. There are four blocks between his apartment and Miller's house.

“Yeah, you can thank me by letting me go the fuck back to sleep,” Miller grumbles, and then hangs up on him.

In the living room, he finds Octavia sitting on the couch, wrapped in blankets, blinking sleepily at him. He'd thought he was being quiet, but apparently not quiet enough.

“What's going on?”

“I have to go pick up Clarke. I didn't mean to wake you up, go back to sleep.”

“Why?”

“It's... We'll talk about it later. I have to go pick up Miller's truck.”

Octavia slumps back down into her pillows. “You probably want your winter coat. It's snowing.”

“It's- _Fuck_ ,” Bellamy sighs, backtracking to his closet to put on his warmest coat. By the time he passing back through the living room, Octavia's asleep again. He's careful to close the apartment door quietly. Octavia's right, everything outside is dusted in a light layer of snow, big fat flakes still coming down all around him. If it were under other circumstances, Bellamy might even appreciate how pretty the city looks like this.

Bellamy calls Clarke back on the walk over to Miller's, shivering a little, wishing it weren't such a _wet_ snow. It gets caught in his hair and the collar of his jacket.

“Hey.” Clarke sounds as if she's calmed down considerably, which helps Bellamy's own nerves, that have been jangling since his phone rang. He hates the idea of her sitting in her car in the dark somewhere, alone and scared. He just wants to be there.

“Hey. Is that guy still hanging around?” Bellamy asks, climbing the steps to Miller's porch and finding his car keys on the front door mat, along with a note that says, _You owe me a beer_.

_“_ Yes,” Clarke responds quietly, “He's wandered past a couple of times, so I know he knows I'm here, but now he's just sitting on the steps outside of some closed restaurant and looking over here. I'd think he wants to steal the car, except it's such a piece of crap, no one would.”

“Okay,” Bellamy says, climbing into the driver's seat of Miller's truck and immediately cranking up the heat. “I'm on my way, just stay on the phone with me. How was Harper's birthday?”

“Mostly good.” Clarke still sounds nervous, a little distracted. “Her friends Monroe and Fox drove down for it, which was really nice of them.”

“Fox? Is that actually someone's name?” Bellamy checks the location Clarke sent one last time, confident he knows where that is. It's really not too far from where he grew up, which is good for Bellamy's directional sense and not so good for his blood pressure. His neighborhood was never the best after dark. He grew up used to it, but Clarke's not.

“It's a nickname, I think? She's... I don't know, a little shy, but really smart? I don't know them that well, they're Harper's friends from high school.”

“So what wasn't good?” Bellamy asks, hoping to keep Clarke talking, keep her distracted.

“Huh?”

“You said 'mostly good' when I asked how her birthday was.”

“Oh.” Clarke's quiet for a minute. “Yeah, it's just that my ex girlfriend from high school was also there. Not _with_ us, or anything, but I haven't seen her in like three years, and it turns out that she got back together with the girl she was dating before me, which just made it a little awkward, because when we were together I always thought she still kind of had feelings for her ex, and I guess I was right. So. Yeah.”

Bellamy huffs, amused. “Us and our ex's this week, huh?”

“Yeah, except for _your_ ex kissed you and wanted to get back together, and _my_ ex I happened to run into with her very hot girlfriend and she definitely didn't want to kiss me _or_ get back together, so mine was more awkward.”

“Wait, wait, wait. That is not fair. You're leaving out the part where I had to _reject_ my ex, who is possibly secretly a saint, and who I still want to be friends with. _That_ is definitely way more awkward. I mean, do you still want to be friends with your ex?”

Clarke laughs. “No. God, no, that would not go well. It was probably never the best relationship to begin with and we certainly never knew how to be friends.”

“So I think I win.”

“Not so fast, you haven't heard the part where my own mother preferred my ex to me.”

“You can tell me in person. I'm pulling up behind your car,” Bellamy says to her, his headlights lighting up the back of Clarke's car as he parks behind her. Bellamy swears every time he sees Clarke's car it gets worse. He really hates that thing.

Bellamy climbs out of the truck, aiming for Clarke's car, head on a swivel. He sees the shape of a man sitting on the steps of a building across the street, elbows on his knees. It's too far to really see his face, but its clearly turned in this direction. Maybe he's just some guy; maybe he's creep.

Before he can even make it all the way to Clarke's door, it's swinging open. Clarke nearly stumbles getting out of the driver's seat so hastily. She's far from dressed for the weather, sky high heels and a strappy black number that hits high on her thigh. Bellamy's never seen Clarke dressed anything like this, but as she crosses the distance between them, hugging her arms to her body, he can't process how gorgeous she is, because she just looks cold. And like she's been crying.

“Shit, Clarke, you do know it's winter, right?” Bellamy asks, as he's shrugging out of his coat and bundling Clarke into it. She lets him, but then shuffles a couple step forwards to rest her forehead on his chest. Bellamy's arms come up around her out of habit, but he keeps his head up, looking around for the man on the steps, just to be sure he hasn't moved. He hasn't.

“It wasn't snowing when I left and I knew it would be hot in the club, so I didn't think I'd need a coat,” Clarke mumbles into his chest. “I wasn't planning on breaking down halfway home.” Bellamy wants to pull her even closer, wrap himself around her like a protective shell, but he resists. There's an option that's technically better.

“Let's get you into the truck. It's warm. We'll wait for AAA there.”

He's right, it's absolutely toasty inside Miller's truck. It's a nice car, fairly new, with heaters in the seats, and it will even parallel park itself apparently. Bellamy's not sure how to activate that feature, nor would he want to. He prefers doing things himself.

Clarke lets out a relieved little sigh when they're both in, doors locked, tilting her head back against the headrest and letting her eyes fall closed. Through her window, Bellamy can see the man on the steps get up and begin to walk down the street, away from them. He watches until the man turns the corner. Did he leave because Bellamy showed up? Or was he there for some other reason to begin with? They'll probably never know.

“I'm sorry about all this,” Clarke says, eyes still closed. “I know you don't like having your time with Octavia interrupted.”

“You don't need to worry about that. You've probably saved me a heart attack. If I found out about this situation tomorrow after you'd resolved it, I'd probably have belated heart failure.”

Clarke smiles, though she doesn't open her eyes. Her relaxed state is so at odds with her mood when she'd called him. He's glad she's no longer scared.

They don't talk for a while. It's easy, just existing in the same space as Clarke, it always makes him feel warm and content and loose limbed. He just likes being near her. Even under circumstances such as these.

They must both doze off, because one minute Bellamy's looking over at Clarke all bundled in his coat, eyes closed, but smiling, and the next someone is tapping on the window and nearly sending Bellamy into cardiac arrest. It's just the AAA agent.

It turns out, Clarke's car needs to be towed. Not that that's particularly a surprise. The thing is a total heap of junk. That adds a little time, since the guy who originally arrived thought they'd probably just need a jump. But eventually everything gets settled and Clarke's car is going to be towed directly to the shop and she'll just have to live without it for a few days.

After ten minutes of shivering out in the cold working everything out with the agent, they retreat back to the warmth of Miller's truck eagerly. Even with his coat, Clarke is showing an absurd amount of leg for these temperatures.

“Are you coming back home with me?” Bellamy asks, fiddling with the heat controls. “Or do you want me to drop you off?”

“I- What about Octavia?”

Bellamy finds himself smiling. “That's okay, I've been wanting you to meet her.”

“And you think these are the best circumstances for that?” Clarke asks, but her voice is warm, a little pleased.

“I think Octavia's Octavia all the time, and I always like it better when you're there.”

“Okay.” Clarke's cheeks are pink, maybe from the heater, maybe not. Bellamy isn't going to question anything, when things are going precisely the way he wants. Bellamy puts the truck in drive.

“Okay,” he echoes back. And that settles it.

They arrive back at his apartment sometime after four in the morning. He expects Octavia to be asleep, but when he opens the door, the sofa is vacant. There's a light on in the bathroom, and a few minutes after they arrive (in which Clarke has exchanged Bellamy's coat for her blanket, taken off her heels, and is now leaning against the kitchen counter waiting for the coffee he'd put on), the door opens.

Octavia's framed in the doorway, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and one of her oversized soccer team t-shirts. Her hair is wet.

“Did you take a shower in the middle of the night?” Bellamy asks, surprised.

“I got bored waiting for you to come back.”

“I didn't mean for you to wait up.”

“Well, I did,” Octavia states, eyes already sliding off of him and to Clarke. His sister is quiet for a long moment, studying her. Bellamy resists the urge to break the silence. Octavia does everything in her own time in her own way. It's best not to interrupt that. He can't tell if this bothers Clarke, standing there in her tiny black dress all draped in her fuzzy blanket, bare feet on the floor.

“So you're Clarke,” Octavia says, deadpan. Bellamy has to give Clarke credit, because most people are a little scared of Octavia, but Clarke just looks at his sister calmly and says,

“Yep.”

“You're blonder than I thought you'd be.”

Clarke shrugs. “You're shorter than I thought you'd be.”

Octavia blinks. Bellamy isn't sure if Clarke notices, but the corners of his sister's lips tilt ever so slightly upward, the way they do when she doesn't want to be pleased. She shifts her gaze to Bellamy.

“Keep her,” Octavia orders, then turns on her heel and closes the bathroom door behind her.

On the counter, the coffee maker beeps loudly, announcing that the coffee's ready. Clarke has no visible reaction to Octavia's words, turning to stand on her tiptoes to stretch up and fetch her coffee mug from the cabinet behind her. For his part, Bellamy is both pleased with his sister's assessment and worried about how Clarke might take it. It's not like he's been hiding how he feels, but he hasn't been stating it either.

“I guess that could have gone worse,” Clarke comments, as she pours herself a cup of coffee.

“Hey,” Bellamy says, reaching for his own mug and sliding it over for Clarke to fill, “she likes you.”

Clarke grins, eyebrows raised. “Is that her liking someone?” There's something vaguely approving about the way she says it.

“That's her practically jumping with joy.”

Clarke snorts, clearly amused. The thing about Octavia, and it's something that Bellamy has tried to explain before, is that she's grown a hard outer shell since their mom died. It's like she thinks she needs to test people, to see if they're worth getting attached to. She hasn't always been like this.

“This is decaf, right?” Clarke asks, sipping on her coffee. It's nearly 5 AM at this point. Bellamy had mostly made the coffee for the comfort and to warm up his hands.

“God, yes. I'm not a masochist.” Caffeine at this hour would practically guarantee he's not going to sleep at all.

The door from the bathroom opens and Octavia strides in, her hair now dry.

“I'm going to sleep.” She's got that sly tilt to the corner of her mouth that Bellamy knows all too well, so he's prepared when she follows this statement with, “Try to keep in mind that you have very thin walls.”

Bellamy flips her off, but Octavia either doesn't see him, or simply pretends not to. She flops down onto the couch without any ceremony, rearranging her pillows and blankets. When he looks back to Clarke, she's yawning.

“Sleepy?”

“Yeah,” Clarke sighs, “but I should take a shower. Some girl spilled a beer on me earlier. I'm dry now, but disgusting.”

“Okay, I'll leave something out for you to sleep in.” Bellamy tells her quietly, trying not to wake Octavia, who is already clearly asleep, mouth slightly open. She'll probably drool on her pillow. They don't speak as they slip past the sofa, going different directions.

“Hey,” Clarke murmurs, hesitating in front of the bathroom door, “thanks for tonight. All of it.”

Bellamy hopes she knows he sincerely means it when he says, “Anytime.”

Clarke's responding smile is so soft, Bellamy knows he would relive this night every single night if she would just always smile at him like that.

While Clarke showers, Bellamy digs out an old t-shirt and pair of his high school basketball shorts to wear and sets them out for her. He changes back into his sweats and a fresh t-shirt, then climbs into bed. It doesn't take long for exhaustion to catch up to him. He can hear the shower running, a soft soothing rush of water through the pipes. Clarke's here, Octavia's here, both of them safe and close, and he feels all his muscles slowly unknotting, the tension leaving his body. He falls asleep before the water shuts off.

Bellamy wakes up just a little, when Clarke climbs into the bed, some indeterminable time later. She's clearly trying to be quiet, but the dip in the mattress tugs him up out of his dreams.

“Clarke?”

“Ssshh, go back to sleep,” she whispers. And that seems like a good idea, somehow. Unthinkingly, he reaches for her in the dark, finds her just an arms length away, and pulls her in, close to him. Her hair smells like lilacs, that damn expensive shampoo.

“Goodnight, Bell.” Clarke says soft, somewhere around his collarbone.

“'Night.” He's almost asleep again when something else occurs to him. “Maybe I don't hate your car so much.” The soft amused little sound Clarke makes against his chest like she's trying to be quiet, but can't quite contain it is the last thing he remembers before he falls asleep.

* * *

“Who has a wedding in the middle of the day?” Bellamy asks, straightening his tie and glancing in the mirror, hoping his hair decides to behave at least a little bit today. It's not like he believes Abby will have time to go around critiquing the appearances of her wedding guests, but... somehow that seems exactly like something she might do.

“People who have a flight to Aruba to catch.” Clarke's part of the wedding party, so she's wearing a long gray dress picked out by Abby, with beading all over the bodice. It's a softer (and certainly more formal) look than he's used to seeing Clarke in, but it suits her. She doesn't seem to mind it too much, though she refuses to touch the heels until the absolute last moment.

She's leaning over Bellamy's dresser to do her makeup in the mirror above it. Abby had offered to have Clarke's makeup professionally done, but that would have involved Clarke spending last night with the rest of the wedding party for a spa night, followed by brunch this morning, and then makeup and hair. The rest of Abby's bridesmaids are, according to Clarke, insufferable social climbers, except for her mother's maid of honor and best friend Callie, and she would rather have brunch with a rabid pack of hyenas. So she's here instead, trying to mimic the silver and smoky gray eye look her mother had picked out.

Around them, Bellamy's room is an absolute train wreck. It looks like some sort of miniature natural disaster has come through, clothes Clarke had thrown all over while searching for her earrings, a pile of shoes, and Clarke's makeup and brushes on practically every flat surface. It's about 50% because she's been panicking over the wedding and 50% because so much of her stuff has migrated here and doesn't have its own place.

The thing is, Monty has officially moved in with Harper and Clarke... has kind of unofficially moved in with Bellamy. There wasn't a discussion. Clarke had just started spending more and more time at his apartment, talking about how she feels like Harper and Monty deserve some privacy to get settled, and then her stuff had sort of followed.

“Clarke can I borrow that crop top hoodie with the skulls on it?” Octavia asks, breezing into the room.

And that's the other thing that has made the transition so easy, Octavia officially approves of Clarke. Sometimes, Bellamy thinks she might like Clarke better than him. They have the same taste in TV and in mocking him. The first thing Octavia had asked him when she'd arrived on Friday had been _Where's Clarke?_ So, apparently he's old news.

“Yeah,” Clarke doesn't look up from the mirror where she's applying her mascara. “I think it's in the closet.”

“You both realize it's December, right?” Bellamy asks.

“I'm wearing high waisted jeans, it's fine,” Octavia waves him off on her way to the closet, clearly uninterested in his input.

Clarke's moved on to her hair, frowning at the complicated printout that had been given to her by her mother. He knows Clarke isn't a big fan of doing hair in the first place. He thinks it's because she was an only child and Abby had never had the time, so she just hadn't really learned. Bellamy has some experience doing Octavia's hair, and even he has no idea what's going on there.

“I can do that,” Octavia says, standing in the middle of the room, holding Clarke's crop top, peering over Clarke's shoulder at the printout.

“Seriously?” Clarke asks.

“Yeah, it's not that hard.”

“Oh, thank god.” Clarke flops down onto Bellamy's bed, clearly relieved.

Bellamy leaves them in the bedroom and goes to make tea, a little at a loss because he's ready to leave, but they have another half hour before they have to go. He is infinitely grateful that all he had to do was put on a suit and some nice shoes.

They ultimately end up leaving twenty minutes late, because Clarke loses her phone amidst the mess she's made of Bellamy's room, but they still make it to the venue just on time, Clarke immediately being swept up by the other bridesmaids, while Bellamy mills awkwardly around with the rest of the guests. He doesn't know anyone here except Clarke, and technically Abby, so he makes small talk with a heart surgeon who works with Abby and prays for the ceremony to get started soon.

Weddings aren't exactly Bellamy's thing. It's not so much that he has a problem with them, but rather that he has very little experience at all. With any of it, weddings, marriage, people being in long term stable relationships. His mother had been married to his father, but Bellamy barely remembers his dad, just dark hair and freckles, and a booming laugh that had filled up every room of their little house. He'd died when Bellamy was four from a sudden, unexpected heart attack at only 35. Bellamy's mother had never had another relationship that lasted more than two years. She had never remarried.

But even though Bellamy doesn't much associate weddings with _anything_ , he thinks he sort of gets it when he sees the way Abby and Marcus look at each other. It's just love. He doesn't know how else to explain it. He knows Clarke has mixed feelings about her mother getting married again, but when he looks at her standing up there, he can see the tears in her eyes and he thinks she understands too.

The wedding gets a lot better with the reception because Bellamy gets Clarke back. Navigating all the other wedding guests, most of whom are substantially richer and substantially whiter than he is, is so much easier with her at his side. Bellamy doesn't think anyone else can tell that her smile isn't always genuine.

Even though the wedding is in the middle of the afternoon, there's plenty of champagne available, the kind Bellamy has never been able to afford in his life. He and Clarke take full advantage of that, because, as Clarke puts it, “ _it's the only way to make 80% of these people sufferable.”_

Clarke technically has a seat at the head table, but she doesn't utilize it, instead sticking close to Bellamy's side, trying to avoid friends of her parents who have known her since she was little and feel compelled to interrogate her about her current life situation and choices.

It's largely because of this, Clarke's reluctance to talk to old acquaintances, the way her eyes get huge and pleading when she looks at him, that he agrees to dance. Bellamy is also not huge on dancing, another reason weddings aren't entirely his speed, has always felt a little on display when he does so, self conscious and uncomfortable. But dancing with Clarke is a little different. It's easy to forget everyone else when she's there, like a star he's just revolving around.

It doesn't hurt that Abby seems to favor slower songs, which means he's mostly just swaying with his arms around Clarke, maybe the tiniest bit unsteady from all the champagne. Clarke either doesn't notice or doesn't care, leaning into him.

On the fourth song they've danced to, Abby approaches them. She looks like a bride from a wedding cake topper, big skirts and elegant updo included. She's been making the rounds, greeting all the guests. Clarke doesn't seem to notice her approaching, so Bellamy nudges her a little, enough that she lifts her head up from where it had been resting on his chest.

“Hello, Bellamy.” Unexpectedly, Abby gives him a slightly stiff hug, though some of that might have to do with the way she has to lean out over her voluminous skirts.

“Congratulations,” he replies, “It was a beautiful ceremony.” Honestly, Bellamy doesn't have much to compare it to, but it seems like the right thing to say, and Abby smiles, so he counts that as a win.

“You know, Clarke, he might be my favorite of your lovers yet.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, _Mom_ , how many times do we need to have this conversation about wording?”

“Language,” Abby says, mildly, ignoring Clarke's question. Oddly, this is the most relaxed Bellamy's ever seen her look.

“I just wanted to make sure I got a chance to say hello.” Abby touches Clarke's shoulder. “If I know my daughter, I know she'll be out of here as soon as it's socially acceptable.”

“Has anyone asked you about what your plans for the next year are?” Clarke replies, but there's no bite in their conversation. For once, everything between them seems softened. Bellamy knows how much Clarke has not enjoyed trying to explain that, _yes,_ she graduated a few weeks ago and _no,_ she doesn't know what she's doing next yet.

“You'll figure it out,” Abby says, reassuring.

“Yes, but am I allowed to tell your wedding guests to fuck off in the meantime?”

“I'd rather you didn't.”

“At least you sprung for the bottomless champagne,” Clarke breathes, dipping her forehead back down to Bellamy's chest with a sigh.

“The extra bottles are being delivered to my house, so if you want to drop by and grab a few while Marcus and I are in Aruba, feel free.”

“This is why I love you,” Clarke tells her mother, lifting her head again.

“So glad your access to free expensive alcohol is the top of the list,” Abby grins. “I should keep moving, make sure I catch everyone. Don't forget, I won't have cell service until Tuesday.”

“Got it.”

“It was nice to see you again, Bellamy.”

“You too,” Bellamy only just gets the words out before Abby is sweeping away, skirts swirling around her. Her relationship with Clarke isn't always perfect; Bellamy knows enough about it to understand that so often things between them are tense, but he does believe Abby loves Clarke and vice versa. He supposes that counts for something.

“Hey,” Clarke says, and she's looking up at him, and fuck if she's not the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. “You stopped moving your feet.”

“Oh.” Bellamy doesn't remember stopping, but he picks up the rhythm again, just a slow swaying turn on the dance floor. It's a pretty reception, filled with candles and fairy lights and accents of silver.

Maybe it's because the wedding actually got to him a little, or maybe it's because of the way Clarke is looking at him, or maybe it's because he's had one too many glasses of champagne, but-

“You never tell your mom we're not actually dating,” Bellamy says.

Clarke's cheeks go a little pink. “Well, I didn't want you to think I wouldn't date you. If you asked.”

Bellamy gapes at her, nearly trips over his own feet. “I- You- _What?_ ”

“If my mom was always saying stuff about us being a couple and I was constantly shooting her down I kind of figured that would give the wrong impression, you know? You'd just assume I don't want to date you.”

“You want to date me?”

“Did you hear anything I just said? I think that's pretty thoroughly established. I mean, what about any of my actions would at all imply that I don't want to date you?”

“It just seemed... presumptuous,” Bellamy tells her, though all he's really thinking is _Clarke wants to date him_ , while his heart pounds in his ears. It's the kind of shock that he knows shouldn't be one, but he can't help it.

“Bell, we consistently sleep in the same bed.”

“I know, I just-” He just never let himself think about it too much, exactly what he and Clarke have become to each other without ever meaning to. He hadn't know how to think about that, get his hopes up, if she hadn't felt the same way.

Clarke's beaming up at him is this soft, joyful way that makes him feel kind of like he's floating and he can't quite believe this is happening and all he wants to do is make sure it's real. It's real, right?

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. There have been so many times over the past few months that he's wanted to, but it's never before felt like _this_.

There's the smallest amount of hesitation on Clarke's face. “I just... maybe not for the first time in front of my mother?”

Bellamy laughs. “Okay, yeah, I think I can manage that.” She has a point. They're in the middle of dance floor with Abby only a few yards away, watching everything. Clarke's right, this isn't the ideal place for a first kiss, no matter how much he wants to kiss her. Bellamy just finds himself wishing he'd started kissing her a long time ago, then she'd let him kiss her now, too.

“Come on,” Clarke says, tugging at his hand, “I need more champagne.”

She's not lying, the champagne does appear to be bottomless, though he and Clarke are doing a good job of trying to find it. In his past, Bellamy has mostly gotten drunk when he doesn't want to think about something else. This is different, this is drinking because he's happy, and he _is_ happy, but he's not allowed to kiss Clarke just yet, and if he doesn't distract himself, he definitely will.

They stay for the cake cutting, mostly because Clarke really wants a slice of cake. And they stay long enough to be forced to sit through two drunken speeches by groomsmen. But after that, they decide it's time to slip out.

It's only just after five, but it's the middle of December, and the sun goes down early, so it's already sunset by the time they leave the reception. Bellamy thinks absently as they wander through the parking lot, that they've greatly miscalculated their evening by driving here, as neither of them are sober at this point. They'll have to call an Lyft or convince someone to come get them. They'll have to abandon Clarke's car here. He knows these things, but he has a hard time holding onto them. Instead he's thinking about Clarke's face when she'd said _“_ _Well, I didn't want you to think I wouldn't date you. If you asked.”_

Clarke's a couple of feet ahead of him, slightly unsteady on her heels, but in high spirits, laughing at something he missed, and looking back over her shoulder at him to make sure he's noticed the sunset.

“Hey,” Bellamy catches her hand and tugs her back into his space. He doesn't let himself think about it anymore, he just kisses her. He can feel her smile into it, and all he can think is how lucky he is to love her. She kisses him back, right there in the parking lot, with her back pressed against the passenger door of her car, her fingers tangled in his hair. It's perfect.

When they break apart, Bellamy can't stop smiling. “So, I was wondering if you want to go out with me?”

Clarke laughs, cheeks flushed, lips red. “I don't know. I'm not really sure if I want to date you.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Clarke stands on her tiptoes to kiss him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> Do you miss Bellamy as much as I do?? -sighs forever-  
> So my original plan was for this fic to only have 4 chapters, but when writing the final chapter, it got unreasonably long in comparison to the previous chapters, so I’ve decided to split it into two parts. The second part is almost completely written, so it should follow this one pretty soon.  
> I apologize for how large the delay on this chapter was. I’ve been struggling a bit with my self isolation and mental health recently. I’m considered high risk for complications if I contract covid, so I’ve had to be extra careful and it’s been a bit up and down on an emotional level, tbh. Anyway, my creativity has definitely been impacted by that, which is part of the reason (the other being that things got much longer than I intended) that this took longer than anticipated.  
> Anyway, here's a lot more unapologetic softness and a little bit of angst, I suppose. This chapter could pretty much be summed up by "idiots in love" so yeah.
> 
> Fun fact: I had a whole other version of the scene where Bellamy comes to get Clarke after her car breaks down where we discover the “creep” that's freaking her out is Murphy. In it, Bellamy's like “wtf are you doing??” and Murphy's trying to explain how he wasn't sure if he should say/do something to help and Bellamy's basically like “so you did the absolute last thing you should and just hung around lurking and scaring her? Great. Handled beautifully.” I thought it was fun, but I ultimately trashed it for multiple reasons, one of which Clarke happening to run into Murphy seemed too far fetched for me to really get on board with.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: minor character death in this chapter! It’s already in the tags since the beginning, but I just wanted to add an additional warning here. Overall, this fic is intended to be soft, but it’s concept is literally Bellamy and Clarke meeting/ending up at funerals together, so it was kind of unavoidable.

Clarke Griffin is his girlfriend. Bellamy has repeated this fact to himself at least a hundred times, but each time it feels new and incredible and yet also so simple at the same time. It's hard to explain. Like maybe he told himself enough times not to get his hopes up, so it's difficult to believe it's true now. Simultaneously things haven't actually changed that much, because functionally Clarke's basically been his girlfriend for weeks now.

She's already at his apartment more than she's at her own. They talk everyday. He cooks, she does dishes, he grocery shops and Clarke remembers to throw out anything from the fridge that's getting too old. It's so domestic, Octavia takes every single opportunity to mock them both, but it's hard to mind when he's just happy.

Clarke's his girlfriend, Octavia likes her, they're practically cohabiting, even Abby approves of him, so there's really only one major thing that still has to fall into place. Clarke hasn't met his friends. Unless you count Raven, which, to be quite honest, he would rather not. Bellamy figures, considering the circumstances, that it's best if he lets everyone know about her in advance. Springing Clarke on them, people already inclined to see Raven's side, seems like a recipe for disaster.

He texts Raven that he's going to tell everyone about Clarke first, because it seems like the right thing to do. She hasn't spoken to him at all since that day in her apartment, and sometimes he thinks she never will. It's a bit of a gut punch, to lose a friend like this, but Bellamy doesn't know what else he's supposed to do. He can't make Raven accept Clarke, he's said everything he knows to say, and he's not breaking off his relationship with Clarke to make Raven comfortable.

Bellamy plans to tell everyone about the fact that he's dating Clarke, dating _anyone_ really (as he's become notoriously single with the group), at drinks on Thursday, then bring Clarke out with them the week after that. He figures that will give him time to run any interference he needs to. The guys and Maya, he mostly expects, will be okay with everything, but he's not entirely sure about Emori and Gina. They're both fiercely protective of Raven, and they've both spent the most time hearing Raven's side of everything that happened with Finn. Gina is _usually_ prone to seeing the best in everyone, but this might be one of the rare exceptions. Emori can sometimes be biting at the best of times, and her loyalty is almost certainly more in line with Raven than with him. So he just... isn't sure. He wants so badly for the people he cares about to like and care about Clarke too. It doesn't feel like it should be too much to ask.

Bellamy isn't sure why he's so disappointed that when Thursday rolls around, Raven doesn't show. In all honesty, it might be for the best. At least she won't be actively arguing against people meeting and liking Clarke. Still, he'd hoped, just maybe, she'd turn up. Emori says something about her having a deadline at work, but Bellamy highly doubts that. After all, she's the only one who knows what he plans to say. Even though she hadn't answered his text, he'd been hoping. He and Raven have been friends their whole life, it seems so unfair to lose her over something that, in Bellamy's eyes, is _entirely_ Finn Collins' fault.

He waits until everyone is at least two drinks in, because he thinks that will make this easier. His friends all look confused when Bellamy tells them he has something he needs to say, but at least they pay attention, piled together in their favorite booth at the back. Jasper is wearing goggles on his head for some indiscernible reason. Maya has her cheek resting against Jasper's shoulder.

“I, uh-” it feels awkward, addressing his friends formally like this. Group announcements aren't really something they _do_. “I just thought it would be best to tell you in advance that next week I'm bringing my girlfriend, because I want you guys to meet her.”

“Your _what_?” That's Bryan, gaping at him like he's grown a second head. Bellamy notices Emori cuts her glance toward Gina, but she doesn't look back. Miller shrugs, unaffected, but then, he sort of knows already. Bellamy hadn't explained the late night phone call to Miller, but there hadn't been too much room for interpretation.

“And the reason I'm telling you all this,” Bellamy continues, because he has to find a way to get all this out, “is because I wanted to make sure you're all prepared. Clarke is the girl Finn was dating behind Raven's back. And no, Clarke didn't know. And yes, that is why Raven isn't currently speaking to me.”

Jasper shifts a little, clearly uncomfortable, but remains uncharacteristically quiet. Emori's expression is on the cool side, but Gina meets his eyes with a small smile. After everything, she might really be the best of them. No one says anything at all, so Bellamy finds himself wanting to fill the silence.

“I just want to make something very clear; this is nonnegotiable for me. I'm not looking for opinions. If you give a fuck about me, you'll give Clarke a chance before you decide how to feel about her. This isn't... I wouldn't introduce you guys to her at all if it weren't serious to me.”

It's very quiet in the bar for a moment. “So... are you and Raven not friends anymore?” Murphy asks.

“I-” Bellamy wishes he had a better answer for that, but it doesn't matter what he wants. He's done his best. “That's up to Raven.”

“What the hell does _that_ mean?” Emori's tone is downright hostile.

“It means,” Bellamy bites out, “that if it were up to me, there wouldn't be an issue, but Raven has a problem with Clarke and with my relationship with her, and since I'm not willing to end that relationship, I'm not sure where that leaves us. As of right now, she doesn't want to talk to me.”

“Well,” Murphy says loudly, “this has been a major downer. I'm getting another beer.”

“God, me too.” Emori follows him to the bar, and that seems to be the close of the matter. At least for tonight. No one really seems eager to reopen the topic, chattering about Jasper trying to home brew his own vodka.

“Hey.” Maya puts a hand on Bellamy's arm, voice quiet. Bellamy likes Maya, but they've never been particularly close. She and Jasper have always been a little wrapped up in each other; Bellamy grew up with Jasper, has known him forever, but he only met Maya when they started dating a couple of years ago.

“Hey.”

“I want you to know, I think you're doing the right thing,” Maya says.

“What?”

Maya shrugs, and Bellamy notices that she looks a little tired, circles under her eyes. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess.” No one else seems to be paying attention, anyway.

“I never really liked Finn, either.” Maya nudges his shoulder. “There was just something... it didn't sit right with me. Sometimes I felt like he was trying to flirt with me a little, which weirded me out, because obviously he shouldn't have been and he knew it. I was just quieter about it not liking him than you. So if Clarke says that she didn't know about Raven, I believe her. And I think it's good that you do too. We don't get to pick the people that we fit with. It's not logic. It might be easier, with everyone else, if you weren't with Clarke, but easier doesn't mean better.” Maya pauses to finish off her beer. “You can't live your life for anybody else or on anyone else's terms. It's your time, your choice, it's not up to them.”

Bellamy is honestly, truly, lost for words. Maya doesn't seem to mind though, she just grins at him and hops up to get another beer, leaving him sitting there with his head spinning. He hadn't expected Maya, of all people, to have a strong opinion.

While no one is outright upset with him post-announcement, everything feels a little awkward, like they aren't sure how to handle him, or they're afraid he'll ask them to pick sides between him and Raven, so Bellamy doesn't stay at the bar much longer.

Instead, he drives home. It feels weirdly empty without Clarke. She's here most days now, but since he was going to be out all evening, she hadn't come over. Bellamy wonders if it's dramatic that he misses her. He waits until he's changed into a pair of sweatpants and collapsed onto this bed to call Clarke.

“Bell?” All the tension he didn't even realize he was carrying in his body melts away, his jaw unclenching.

“Hey.”

“You're home early.”

“Maybe I'm getting old,” Bellamy tells her.

“Well, that's just a fact.”

“Rude.” But Bellamy thinks she can probably hear the way he's smiling. It's a little odd, that she's not here with him, and instead just a voice at the other end of his telephone. But at the same time, there's an odd nostalgia to it, to when he first met her, and this was all they had. Bellamy almost can't believe he spent so many months not seeing her, that he could have spent so much time not realizing how important she was going to be to him.

“Okay, you got weirdly quiet,” Clarke says. “I don't actually think you're old.”

Bellamy laughs. “No, I'm just tired. Maybe a little old.”

 _We don't pick the people that we fit with_. Maya's right. He and Clarke fit together. But Bellamy knows, that if given the opportunity, he'd choose her every time.

* * *

By the time Thursday night rolls around again, Bellamy is pretty nervous about it, but he's trying not to show it. Mostly because Clarke is twice as nervous as he is.

“I'm just not really a people person,” Clarke tells him, checking her makeup in his mirror for about the twelfth time in the past five minutes. It's perfect, as far as Bellamy can tell, but that doesn't really seem to be the point.

“My friends aren't going to dislike you because you're an introvert, Clarke.”

“No, they're just going to dislike me because of Finn.”

“That's not true.” Bellamy wishes he were more sure about that himself. He thinks, he really, truly thinks, that they'll make an effort, after what he said to them. But he can't be sure. He's terrified someone will say or do something that hurts her, which is the last thing he wants.

“Very convincing.” Clarke's smile is wan. She's started picking at her fingernails, the way Bellamy's only seen her do when she gets so anxious she can't seem to control it.

“Hey,” Bellamy takes her hands so she'll stop, “I know this is stressful. They have this impression of you in their head because of what was said when Raven first found out about Finn cheating, but I've told them the truth and when they get to know you, when you're not just a name in a story, they'll understand.”

“You know, I didn't really take you for a full out optimist, Blake.”

“Cute.” Bellamy wishes he could say something to make her feel better. Clarke uses sarcasm as a coping mechanism, and right now, that's coming out full force. He doesn't want her meeting his friends to be such a stressful experience, but under these circumstances, he doesn't know what else he could do. If only Raven had come around by now, maybe this would be easier. With Raven's blessing, everyone else would feel comfortable being friendly.

“Listen,” Bellamy says, still holding Clarke's hands, drawing them and her closer. “Any time you want to leave, we'll go. We can stay for five minutes if that's all you want. I really think it's going to be much better than it feels like it will be, though.”

Clarke takes a deep breath. “Okay. I'm ready. We should just go before I freak myself out any more.”

Bellamy has to stop himself from trying to tell her it'll be fine again. He's only trying to ease his own anxiety, and that's not what she needs. So instead, he helps Clarke into her winter coat and follows her out into the frigid night air. It's snowing again, the city already painted white with freshly fallen snow, but Bellamy only lives three blocks from the bar, so it would be silly to take Clarke's car, no matter how much they're both shivering by the time they get there.

It gets uncomfortably quiet when Bellamy and Clarke arrive at the table already occupied by his friends, everyone's eyes landing on them at once. Bellamy has to resist the urge to pull Clarke into his side, like he can shelter her with his body. She wouldn't like that. Clarke doesn't like to appear vulnerable in front of anyone she doesn't really trust, and these are strangers. Raven isn't here; Bellamy is both relieved and disappointed by this. At this point he'd been expecting it, but it pretty much confirms she hasn't changed her mind about anything.

Bellamy clears his throat. “Well, since we seem to have you attention, everyone, this is Clarke.”

There's a moment of silence, just a breath where everything feels heavy and uncomfortable, and then Miller breaks the silence by saying,

“You're definitely out of Bellamy's league, you know that, right?” And with that, the tension breaks, and Bellamy remembers why Miller's been his best friend since they were six years old, even as he's cursing at him, and Jasper is nudging people down the bench seat so there's room for them to sit, while Murphy asks Clarke if she wants and beer, and it's just a relief surging through his veins and infusing his bloodstream.

Sure, it's a little different, sitting here with Clarke to his left and holding her hand in his lap under the table while Jasper tells a story about the time he and his friend got high and accidentally set a python loose in his house, but it's the kind of different that sits warm and comfortable in his chest.

Clarke doesn't say a whole lot, but even under normal circumstances, Bellamy wouldn't expect her to. She prefers to observe, calculate, then speak. Clarke's careful with what parts of herself she shows others. It's something Bellamy both admires and completely doesn't understand. He's always worn his heart on his sleeve, is used to being called “impulsive” and “emotional” by those describing him. Clarke is pretty much the opposite of that. Maybe that's why they fit together the way they do.

To his relief, no one is outwardly hostile, and while Bellamy notices that Emori particularly seems a bit wary of Clarke, half an hour in and even she's laughing at a quip Clarke had inserted at Bellamy's expense. In his opinion, it hadn't been her best work, but he'll take what he can get right now. He can argue the point later, when they're alone.

“It's your turn to buy drinks,” Murphy tells him, nudging him in the side with an elbow. Bellamy doesn't really want to leave Clarke to the mercy of his friends, but she just shrugs when he looks to her, so he doesn't have a reason to say no.

The bar is never that crowded on Thursdays, part of the reason they'd picked it as their evening out, so it doesn't take long for Bellamy get a new pitcher of beer. When he gets back to the table, Clarke and Maya are speaking quietly to each other, and the mood between them has turned somber. No one else seems to have noticed, generally cheering Bellamy's return, though that is entirely because he's bearing alcohol.

“Is everything okay?” Bellamy asks, sliding back into his seat. After last week, Maya's the one he was least worried about getting along with Clarke, but he's a little concerned now.

“Oh, yeah,” Clarke says, waving him away and simultaneously accepting the refill he offers, sliding her cup across the table towards him. Her eyes are a little shiny. “I was just telling Maya about my dad.”

That surprises him. It's been nearly three years, but Jake Griffin is still a raw topic for Clarke. The one, and only, time she'd told Bellamy the full story of the last two years of his life, slowly wasting away in a hospital, round after round of treatments until there just wasn't anything left to try, she'd cried the whole time and Bellamy had ended up making her boozy hot chocolate and watching Mean Girls with her at two in the morning because she hadn't wanted to go to bed. Clarke's father is a topic of discussion that usually stays locked away.

He's not sure if he's imagining it, but Maya seems a little teary eyed as well. “I told you I'd like her, Bellamy.”

“That's not _exactly_ what you said,” Bellamy counters, but mostly he's thinking about the way Clarke's smiling and how glad he is that they're here, that his friends are all, with the notable exception of Raven, here, being their usual, ridiculous, obnoxious selves, and Clarke's smiling.

“Close enough,” Maya tells him.

Bellamy drapes an arm over Clarke's shoulders and she leans into his side. Across the table, Bryan is in a heated debate with Murphy over whether a bow and arrow or a longsword is a more effective weapon. Gina is dozing on Emori's shoulder. These are his friends, this is exactly what he wanted; Bellamy just wishes Raven was here.

  
  


Bellamy has almost completely relaxed, which may have something to do with his friends behaving, or may have something to do with how many beers he's had to drink, but by the time midnight rolls around, he's feeling kind of loose and warm and maybe like he's about ready to go home. Before he can suggest it, however, his plan gets derailed.

“Okay, we're stealing Clarke for pool.” Gina and Emori are standing over them, both wearing expressions that Bellamy suspects means it's futile to argue. He starts to stand up, but Emori puts her hand on his shoulder to keep him sitting.

“Nope, girls only. Clarke's partnering with Maya.” Emori somehow has Clarke's wrist and is pulling her away before Bellamy can even think to say something else. He wonders if he should go after them, just to be sure Clarke doesn't mind.

“Don't worry about her,” says Miller, leaning back in his chair and watching the girls rack up the pool balls with an neutral sort of bored expression that Bellamy has many times wondered if absolutely anyone can read.

“I've known her all of three hours, and I can tell she can handle herself. You know I'm a good judge of these things.”

Jasper nods along next to Miller. “She kind of scares me a little bit, not gonna lie.”

Bellamy laughs. “What exactly do you think she might do to you?”

“Nothing!” Jasper protests. “Clarke seems cool, she just... also seems like she could definitely take someone out and get away with it if she wanted to.”

“Don't worry, I'm sure Maya will protect you.”

Something flickers across Jasper's expression, so quickly Bellamy can't read it.

“Okay, enough of this shit. I don't need you all turning to mush over your girlfriends all over my nice tables.” Murphy has mastered looking bored and mildly disgusted simultaneously; if it weren't so irritating, it would be impressive.

“These tables are actually complete shit,” Miller says at the exact same time Bellamy says-

“Oh, like you wouldn't melt into a little puddle on the floor if Emori ever agreed to go out with you.”

“Fuck all of you, then. That didn't even apply to you, Miller.”

“You trying to call your tables 'nice' is offensive to literally everyone.”

They dissolve into the kind of fond bickering that marks their friendship, and Bellamy sinks back into his seat, content. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Clarke's blonde hair, bright under soft golden glow of the lamplight.

Bellamy doesn't realize he's sort of dozing until Clarke is suddenly right in front of him, arms crossed, grinning.

“I think it's time to take you home, old man.” When Bellamy glances toward the pool table, he sees Emori leaning against it, talking to Gina. Maya has already slid back into her place next to Jasper. She looks about as exhausted as he feels.

“Did you kick ass?” Bellamy asks, as he gets to his feet.

“No, Maya and I lost,” Clarke says passively, smiling a little. This alone is enough to make Bellamy suspicious, but he waits until they've stumbled out onto the street where patches of ice have formed on the sidewalk and he has to tuck Clarke under his arm to keep her from shivering to bring it up.

“You lost on purpose, didn't you?” Clarke's good at pool, and she's usually a terrible loser. She does not lose without a fight. Her responding grin is sharp enough to kill.

“You think I was going to try to beat them on purpose? I'm not an idiot.”

“No, just very calculating.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“That is exactly why Jasper is terrified of you.”

Clarke snorts. “Did he say that?”

“He said something about how he thinks you could take someone out and get away with it.” Bellamy tells her.

“Well he's not wrong.” Clarke nudges him in the ribs. “You better watch your back, Bell.”

“I think I'm probably safe.”

“Oh, really?” It's stopped snowing, finally, and the sky is clear, black, with a smattering of stars.

“Yeah, I cook for you.”

“Huh.” Clarke sounds a little too genuinely surprised; Bellamy thinks he should probably be offended. “Well played.”

“I can be calculating too, Princess.”

Clarke's laugh is so bright, it outshines the moonlight on the snow.

* * *

Bellamy is woken up much too early Friday morning by someone knocking on his front door. Next to him, Clarke sighs into her pillow and murmurs something that he thinks might be _'God, make it stop, please,'_ but it's so muffled, he can't be sure. For a moment, Bellamy hopes that whoever it is will just stop and go away, but that doesn't seem to be happening, so eventually he drags himself out of bed, into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and shuffles out of the bedroom, running a hand through his hair as he goes. His alarm was set to go off in thirty minutes anyway, but he still mourns the loss of that sleep.

Bellamy can honestly say the last person he expects to be standing on the other side of the door is Raven. It's because of this that he doesn't say anything, not because he doesn't want to, but because he's so surprised all the words get stuck somewhere between his mouth and his brain.

“Hi,” Raven prompts, finally.

“Hi.”

“Is Clarke here?” Bellamy wishes he could tell precisely why she's asking, but Raven's tone is even and neutral. She's got her armor on today.

“She's still sleeping.” Bellamy hesitates. “Do you want me to get her?”

“No. It's okay.” Raven shifts her weight slightly and even though he's not entirely sure that inviting Raven in, where Clarke could wander out of his bedroom at any moment and right into a conversation she isn't ready to have, he can't exactly let her stand there when he knows it's probably hurting her leg.

“Do you want to come in?”

It's Raven's turn to hesitate. “No, this will just take a minute.” But then she doesn't say anything at all, and Bellamy just stands there holding the door open, watching her watch him.

“I-” Raven's gaze flickers over his shoulder, like she doesn't want to meet his eyes, but then settles on his face. “I'm not sorry for yelling at you.”

“Okay,” Bellamy says, confused about where this is going.

“Emori and Gina came over last night, though. And I... I don't want us to have to avoid each other. And I don't want to fight with you. And also our soccer team is suffering since you quit and if we lose to Mount Weather, I might have to kill myself, so yeah.”

Bellamy has to stop himself from smiling. He forgot how shit Raven is at apologizing. She's always preferred to just breeze past things, and sure, she's maybe not doing the _best_ job, but she's here, and that counts for something. There's relief in the fact that she's not just cutting him out of her life. But there's still one pretty important thing to iron out.

“And Clarke?”

Raven shifts her weight again. “I'm not going to pretend like everything's rainbows and kittens and shit, but I'll try to be... open.” Well, that's a start.

“You know, I think you guys might actually like each other if-”

“Don't push it, Blake. We'll see.”

Bellamy nods. “Okay, and you can't talk about or to Clarke the way you have been, you know that, right?” Really, she owes Clarke an apology, way more than she owes him one, but Bellamy knows that's not something Clarke wants him to demand. And as much as _Bellamy_ would like to see one, he has to respect Clarke's wish to let it go.

“Yeah, I got it. I can be civil, you know?” There's the slightest upward tilt to the corner of Raven's mouth. This is the Raven he's used to.

“Well, that's questionable.”

“Oh, fuck off, Bellamy.”

“This is _my_ apartment.” This time, he really is smiling. It will take time, to really get things back to normal, or, rather, to find a new version of it, one that includes Clarke, but it still feels good to tease Raven again. He missed her.

“So,” Raven says, “Air is clear? We're good here?”

“Yeah, we're good here, Reyes.”

Raven nods, taking a couple steps back from his apartment door, and down the hallway. “Okay, don't forget to show up for practice, then. And maybe take a couple extra trips to the gym in between, I'm afraid you're getting soft, Blake.”

“Yeah, yeah, that's why you're _begging_ me to make sure we don't lose to Mount Weather.” But Raven's already turned around and is walking down the hallway. Bellamy only knows she hears because she holds her middle finger up over her head as she goes.

  
  


Clarke's sitting up, groggy, when he comes back into the bedroom, sheets pulled up to her chest.

“What's going on?” She squints at the clock. “Why are you up?”

“Raven came by.” Bellamy almost can't believe the words himself.

“Really?” Clarke sits up a little straighter. “And?”

“Well...” Bellamy's still trying to process that a little himself. “I mean, she said she wasn't sorry for yelling at me.”

Clarke huffs a tiny laugh. “I mean, you did deserve it a little bit.” He had. But Clarke hadn't. It's going to take him a little longer to let go of the things Raven had said about Clarke. But Raven's trying, so he will too.

“Yeah. She also said she's willing to try.”

“Try...” There's a vulnerability on Clarke's face, like she isn't sure what to hope for, and that kills him. He wishes he could tell her that Raven is completely over everything, that if they ran into her on the street tomorrow, she'd be genuinely happy to see them, but... That's not the truth. And Bellamy wants to always tell Clarke the truth, even when it's less than stellar, so they can face it together.

“To be friends again. To let go of what she thought of you. Hopefully, to get where you two might actually enjoy being in the same room? I didn't push for details.”

“Hhmm.” Clarke reaches out for him, tugs on his hands and pulls him over to the edge of the bed, so he's standing over her. “That's better than it was, I guess. Right?”

Bellamy tilts Clarke's chin up so she's looking in his eyes. “Give her some time. With that calculating brain and smart mouth, you two will bond over ridiculing me in no time.”

“Well that sounds fun.” Clarke is tugging on his hands, so he crowds her backwards, climbing over her on the bed. Clarke hooks her arms around his neck, their noses brush.

“So that's it? We just... start hanging out with her now?”

“Yeah. She'll be around. It might be a little awkward at first, but she'll be there. And I mean, if I help the team beat Mount Weather next week, that'll go a long way in goodwill.”

“So you're gambling the state of our relationship with Raven on a soccer game?” Clarke asks, eyebrows raised.

“Something like that.” Bellamy's a little distracted by the fact that all Clarke is wearing is a tiny pair of underwear.

Clarke kisses his jaw, a sweet peck. “God, you're so lucky I love you.”

Bellamy's muscles lock up, stunned. In his chest, his heart has begun to pound so hard he's a little worried it might just burst out from behind his ribs.

He watches the realization of what she just said wash through Clarke's eyes. Her cheeks turn a soft pink, but she doesn't look away.

“I guess that's out there now,” Clarke says, finally, when Bellamy doesn't.

“You meant that?” Because... Well, it's fast. It's only been a few weeks, and he thinks, when people mean it, they usually wait longer to say it. But then... it hasn't really just been a few weeks. It's been almost a year, if you count back to what really started this. Hell, Bellamy yelled at Raven that he loved Clarke before he had ever even kissed her. So maybe it's not so fast.

“Of course I mean that, Bell.” Clarke smiles up at him, though he catches the tiniest flicker of vulnerability behind her eyes.

“I guess that's good, since I sort of already told Raven I'm in love with you weeks ago.”

“You did _what_?”

“I may have screamed it at her. I was upset. It's a bit of a blur.”

“You should have told _me_.” But she doesn't sound very angry. In fact, she sounds a little breathy and amused and just _joyful_.

“Hey, Clarke,” Bellamy says.

She doesn't answer, just raises an expectant eyebrow.

“I'm in love with you.”

Clarke smiles up at him, and the gleam in her eyes has gone wicked. “I'd like some evidence to support your claim.”

Bellamy's grin is razor sharp. “Whatever you want, Princess.”

* * *

The holiday season straight through New Year's passes in a whirlwind- Christmas with Octavia and her aunt, a trip to Abby's intimidatingly large house out of the city with Clarke, a gift exchange with his friends, a black tie work event that he'd really rather skip, and New Year's at Miller's Dad's annual bash. It's just a lot. A lot of late nights, a lot of drinks, a lot of money that's no longer in his pocket. Sometimes, a lot of fun.

And despite the fact that Raven _says_ she's accepted his relationship with Clarke and is no longer actively avoiding him (she's been downright pleased with him since he scored the winning goal against Mount Weather), the two girls have yet to be in the same room since. Clarke had spent a lot of the holidays with her mom, while Raven had taken a trip to visit her old foster dad, Sinclair. Bellamy doesn't think that's on purpose, but he isn't sure. He hasn't even really had time to dwell on it.

It's already mid-January and he's been completely swamped at work. Predictably, Bellamy's boss is still on vacation, on a beach somewhere, Bali, he thinks. Bellamy's using the time, a blissfully peaceful stretch where his boss is too busy tanning and drinking to make ridiculous requests, to catch up on all his work. Even so, it follow him home on the weekends.

Bellamy is right in the middle of an email, detailing exactly why their current schedule is going to absolutely impossible to fulfill for the price that is being asked, when he's interrupted.

“Please tell me no one is naked!” Octavia calls, bursting into the kitchen before waiting for an answer. Bellamy resists pointing out that this is exactly what had caused the issue in the first place.

“No one is naked, O.”

“Thank God, I think you permanently scarred me last week,” Octavia says, looking absolutely unbothered as she flops down onto the sofa and kicks her feet into Bellamy's lap.

“You didn't tell me you were coming over! And we weren't naked.” He doesn't think it's entirely fair to blame him for the incident. He is, after all, an adult in his own home.

“Not _completely_ naked. I don't think I'll ever be able to eat off your kitchen table ever again.”

Bellamy sighs and takes off his glasses. Clearly he won't be getting any more work done anytime soon. It's not worth arguing the point, Octavia has made her up mind.

“Where's Clarke?”

“She doesn't actually live here, you know?”

“Okay.” Octavia's sarcasm is so intense it could probably melt paint. “So, where is she?”

“At a job interview.” It's the third one she's done since New Year's, and while she's been offered at least one position already, Bellamy can tell she's struggling about making any decisions. Clarke wants to feel like she's making a _difference_ somehow, and so far none of these jobs have offered that.

“And?” Octavia prompts.

“And she'll be back around dinner time,” Bellamy gives in. Yes, technically, Clarke is still paying rent with Harper, but she's almost never there. In fact, she spends such a small amount of time at “home” that Harper had insisted on “family dinners” on Wednesdays, which Bellamy has been roped into attending. He doesn't mind so much. He likes Monty and Harper, so much so that he's suggested bringing them out to the bar on Thursday, but so far it just hasn't worked out.

Octavia yawns. “Good. She said she'd help me with my tattoo design.”

“You're 17.”

“And next month I'll be 18. Don't be a dick.”

Bellamy decides it's best to drop it. To be honest, if all Octavia does when she turns 18 is get a tattoo, that will be a relief. Bellamy had been wild at her age. He hopes she hasn't done even half of shit he did back then.

Clarke arrives just after five, kicking off her heels the moment she's through the door. She's wearing a silky blue blouse and this pencil skirt that Bellamy would already be taking off of her if Octavia weren't right there.

“How did it go?” Bellamy asks, when Clarke leans over the back of the couch to kiss his cheek. Octavia is busy pretending to gag at the other end of the sofa. Clarke either doesn't notice or pretends not to.

“Fine, I think. I just wish I _cared._ I mean, I know I need to get a job, but I'm not excited about any of it. Working a crappy job in high school or college feels okay, because it's like, not meant to be a _career_. But all of these make me feel like I'm staring down the rest of my life and I don't want it.”

Bellamy can understand that; his job feels more tedious every single day. Sometimes, he thinks about how maybe he'd be happier if he just went to grad school, went down the path to research or teaching, instead of what he's doing. But he makes decent money and he's got enough saved to keep Octavia out of serious college debt and absolutely no more than that. His job is practical, and that's what matters.

“Anyway, I'm going to change,” Clarke says, disappearing into the bedroom. Octavia swings her feet off of Bellamy's lap and twists around to rest her chin on the back of the couch and face the bedroom door.

“Hey Clarke! Can we work on the tattoo drawing?” Octavia calls. Clarke reappears in the doorway wearing sweatpants and one of Bellamy's t-shirts, her hair piled into a messy bun.

“Yeah, let me get my sketchbook.”

While the girls crowd to one end of the sofa with Clarke's sketchbook, Bellamy is able to get a little more work done, glancing up occasionally to see their heads bent together, murmuring quietly. It feels like the pieces of his life lining up just right, seeing the two of them together. It's a kind of bone deep contentment that Bellamy's never been able to find before, and it makes him want to cling to it, never let it go.

Octavia stays for dinner, but not overnight like she normally would on Saturday because it's her friend Monroe's birthday. Octavia claims the plan is for a group of them to go a late movie and then back to Monroe's, but Bellamy isn't sure he's getting the whole story. A couple of years ago, he might have pushed, but he's had to take a step back. Octavia is almost an adult and Bellamy is not her parent. It's been a difficult lesson to learn.

“Call me if you need me to come get you,” Bellamy tells her, as she leaves.

“We're seriously just going to the movies, Bell.”

“Still...” Bellamy just wants her to be safe.

“You don't even have a car.”

“Clarke does.”

Octavia rolls her eyes at him, reminding him she is every bit the 17 year old she sometimes pretends not to be, but gives him a quick one armed hug before she goes. He thinks, really hopes, that she would call him if she needed him. He hadn't had anyone like that at her age.

Bellamy has to get back to his work after dinner, so instead of watching anything on the TV, Clarke curls up at the other end of the sofa with her sketchbook while Bellamy opens his laptop back up, though it's the last thing he wants to do. It takes him a full twenty minutes to realize Clarke's drawing _him_ , glancing up at him every now and then. She smiles when she catches him watching her.

“Do you ever think about quitting your job?” Clarke asks.

It's so sudden, Bellamy doesn't know what to say. Sure, he thinks about quitting at least three times a week, but it's never anything more than a fantasy. He simply can't afford it. Particularly not now, with Octavia off to college in a few months.

“Why?”

Clarke shrugs, eyes fixed on her sketchbook. “When you talk about your job, you just...” She looks up at him. “You lose all the light in your eyes.”

It catches Bellamy off guard, how deeply those words cut him. When he started his job, he loved it. Sure, his boss has always been a pain in the ass, but it was exciting, and fresh, and he'd never made so much money in his life. It had seemed like the perfect deal. Over the last year, it's been dragging him down. He knows this; he just didn't realize how much other people could tell.

“Well, I can't afford grad school. At least not until after Octavia graduates.” It's something he has to remind himself of- an end goal. Get Octavia through school, worry about the rest later.

“Okay,” Clarke says, but it's the sort of 'okay' that has so much underneath it. She doesn't mean that. Bellamy pokes her foot with his pen.

“Alright, say what you really think.”

“I don't know.” Clarke closes her sketchbook and puts her pencil down. “I mean, my mom paid for my college, so I don't have a lot of room to judge your choices. Maybe I'm projecting because I'm not excited about any of these jobs and I'm going to have to take _something_. It just sucks to watch you burn yourself out.”

He can hardly argue with that. It doesn't feel good, either. In a perfect world, Bellamy knows he would have left this job months ago. He closes his laptop. At the very least, he can put it away for the night. His boss is on an island somewhere ignoring all his responsibilities. Bellamy thinks he's earned a few hours.

“Okay, I need some Great British Bake Off and possibly a piece of cake.”

Clarke grins at him. “We have access to one of those things.”

“It'll have to do.”

“We still have some of the expensive champagne from my mom's wedding if you want.”

“God, yes.” It's a ridiculous combination and Bellamy doesn't care. He just wants to not think about his job for the rest of the night.

While Clarke goes to retrieve the champagne from the hall closet, Bellamy pulls up Netflix. By the time she returns with a bottle and two mismatched wine glasses, he's managed to release some of the tension from his jaw.

Clarke pours them both full glasses, passing Bellamy the larger of the two.

“Cheers,” Clarke says.

Bellamy knocks his glass against hers. “Cheers.”

* * *

Bellamy is woken by his phone ringing. _Octavia_ , he thinks, reaching for it in the dark while Clarke murmurs something next to him.

“Hello?” He can hear the sleep in his own voice, slurring the word a little as he tries to wake up. He's expecting to have to drag himself out of bed to go pick up some intoxicated teenagers. Or, worst case scenario, having to bail someone out. Only it's not Octavia.

He's still trying to process that it isn't his sister calling him, trying to place the voice (and what time is it, anyway?) that the words don't register. After another long moment of confusion, he realizes that it's Emori, he's just never heard her cry before.

“Wait, what?” Bellamy asks, because literally nothing is making sense to him. He hears the words, he just fails to absorb them. He realizes, suddenly, that he may still be a little bit drunk.

“What's going on?” Clarke murmurs, sitting up next to him, a hand on his arm. But he doesn't know. He can't quite comprehend it, can barely understand what Emori's saying through her tears, much less _feel_ it. He shakes his head, like maybe that will clear it, and Emori is saying something else, but it's all just words, sliding past him too fast for him to catch up.

“Okay, okay, we're coming,” Bellamy interrupts her, before he can get too lost. He just has to _move_. He hangs up, but then he just finds himself sitting there instead, staring at his phone in his hands, the world spinning just a little bit.

“Hey, what is it?” Clarke's voice is soft but with an underlying edge of command. “Is Octavia okay?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy feels very far away from himself for a moment. “Yeah, that was Emori. She said... She said Maya,” Bellamy chokes over the word, it feels all wrong. “Maya's died.”

There's a moment of silence in which all Bellamy can hear is the blood in his ears and the incredulity with which he'd just uttered that sentence. Clarke doesn't ask any questions or waste any time. Instead, she swings her legs out of bed and begins to get dressed. Absently, Bellamy realizes he should follow her, so he does, getting dressed in a distant, mechanical sort of way.

Clarke is calm. Bellamy can see, in the tense line of her mouth, that she's shaken, but it's the only thing that betrays her. Otherwise, she's entirely collected. She moves through his apartment with a smooth efficiency, passing him his coat, fetching her keys from his dresser, sliding things into a backpack that Bellamy doesn't pay attention to.

“Where are we going?” Clarke asks. “The hospital?”

“No.” Bellamy's voice comes out as a croak, like he hasn't used it in a long time. “To Jasper's. I- he wants us there.”

“Okay.” She takes his hand, tugs him out of the door and down the stairs, to where her car is parked on the street. He should explain, he thinks, as Clarke asks for Jasper's address and plugs it into her phone. He should, but he doesn't know. He doesn't have answers. He doesn't know what happened. His head hurts.

He hadn't asked any questions, and even if he had, he's not sure Emori could have answered them. All she'd managed to get out was that Maya had died and Jasper needed them. It still doesn't feel real.

  
  


When they arrive at Jasper's house, the edges of the sky are tinged with light, an impending sunrise. Miller is sitting on the front porch, smoking. Bellamy hasn't seen Miller smoke in three years. He supposes tonight calls for it. When they climb up the front steps next to him, Bellamy can see that his hands are trembling.

“What's going on?” Bellamy asks, unsure how to encapsulate all the questions he has swirling around his head.

“Everyone else is inside,” Miller says, pausing to take a long drag of his cigarette. “I just really needed a smoke. Fuck, man. It's heavy as shit in there.”

“What happened?” It's Clarke who asks this, her fingers still tangled with Bellamy's, backpack slung over her shoulder. She's rock solid.

“She had cancer.”

A tiny, sharp intake of breath is the only sign Clarke is moved.

“What?” Bellamy asks, lost.

“Jas said they found out six months ago. Terminal. So she refused treatment, didn't want any of us to know, something about maintaining normalcy. Fuck, I don't know.”

Bellamy has no idea what to say to that. Six months? And none of them had noticed. He thinks back to the last few times he'd seen Maya. She'd looked tired, he remembers thinking at the time. But tired is really different from terminally ill, or it seems like it should be.

“Come on,” Clarke pulls him gently toward the door. “We should go in.”

They leave Miller to his cigarette and slip into the house and follow the low murmur of voices to the living room. Jasper's sitting on the low slung sofa in the middle of the room, the others clustered around him like planets in orbit of a sun. He doesn't seem to register their arrival, but Gina does, looking up from where she's perched on the arm of the sofa. She gets up to slide over to them, and Bellamy notices her eyes are red.

Emori has an arm around Jasper's shoulders, but it's unclear if he's aware of this. Bellamy's never seen him like this, a sort of empty, almost vacant expression on his face, eyes fixed straight ahead. Murphy is on his other side, but Bellamy can't read his expression because he has his head in his hands. Bryan's sitting on the other side of Murphy. And that leaves-

“Where's Raven?” Bellamy asks Gina, quiet, almost afraid to break the silence.

“She's still at Sinclair's. I talked to her, she'll definitely be back in time for the memorial on Monday.” They have a memorial planned already?

“What...” He doesn't really want to ask, but he feels like he should, “What _happened_?”

“She didn't want anyone to know.” It's Jasper who answers, startling Murphy, drawing everyone's eyes. His voice has an odd, flat tone to it. “She didn't want anyone to treat her differently. She just... She just wanted to live out the time she had left. They started in home hospice care at her mom's over Christmas. We didn't think... It just went so fast.”

The room lapses back into quiet, so thick it's difficult to take a full breath. Bellamy feels an itchy sort of need to _do_ something, but there's nothing to do. They're not here because they can change anything. They're here so Jasper won't be alone.

Bellamy hates feeling useless, hates the way his mind starts to spiral and spin out of control. Clarke squeezes his hand, just hard enough that it pulls him back to himself. He focuses on that, Clarke's hand, warm and solid in his.

“Let's sit,” Clarke murmurs to him, and so they pick their way across the room to the battered velvet green loveseat wedged up next to the couch. Still, no one says anything. The silence feels oppressive, stifling.

At some point, Miller comes back in from outside, smelling like nicotine, the morning sunlight creeping in after him. Murphy falls asleep on the sofa, head cricked at an uncomfortable looking angle. Bellamy isn't sure what any of them are doing, camped out here like anything might change, he just knows no one is going anywhere while Jasper's sitting there looking like _that_.

When the sun is fully up, birds chirping loudly enough that the racket filters in past the glass windowpanes, freshly fallen snow gleaming brightly outside on the porch railings, Clarke stands up and leaves the room. Bellamy's so tired and hungover, he doesn't even wonder where she's gone at first. It's like an invisible exhausted haze has descended, leaving them all listless and barely awake. But then Clarke doesn't come back, and Bellamy fixates on this thought long enough for him to get up and go looking for her.

He finds Clarke in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. If he didn't know her, he wouldn't fully understand the gesture. But Clarke doesn't like mornings and she doesn't like cooking. This is so completely out of her comfort zone, but she'd just gotten up and gotten it done when no one else had even thought to. Bellamy has a rush of affection strong enough to get him in motion, across the room to help her.

If there is one single thing you can count on when arriving at Jasper Jordan's house, it's that he'll have a well stocked kitchen. In no time, they've pulled together enough food for a small army- pancakes, eggs, sausage, bacon, even hash browns. Bellamy makes coffee, while Clarke starts trying to coax people into eating. Miller and Murphy are keen enough, but the others mostly take their plates mechanically, out of reflex more than an actual desire for food. Gina takes on the job of trying to get Jasper to eat anything at all.

Once everyone's served, Clarke comes back to the kitchen where Bellamy has started running water for the dishes. Jasper has a dishwasher, but not once in the four years that he's lived here, has Bellamy ever seen it functional. Unfortunately, he also has a completely shit hot water heater, which means it takes a solid five minutes minimum for the kitchen water to run hot. Maya had always been on him to fix it for water conservation purposes, Bellamy remembers suddenly.

“I'll do that,” Clarke says, nudging him out of the way. “Go pass out out the coffee.”

Bellamy's too tired to argue. He just does as he's told, ferrying cups of piping hot coffee out to the living room. It's received with slightly more enthusiasm than the food, particularly on Emori's part. When he finishes, Bellamy returns to the kitchen, where the water is still running.

“Still cold,” Clarke tells him, leaning against the counter. Her shoulders have a slight dip to them, the only sign of her exhaustion. Bellamy's just opened his mouth to offer to take back over, when there's a small commotion in the living room.

Surprised voices, footsteps, and then Raven's standing in the doorway, looking bone weary, but with that determined sort of glint in her eye that Bellamy knows better than to ever get in the way of. She looks around the kitchen, piled with dishes, water running in the sink, over to Bellamy by the fridge and then-

Raven and Clarke make eye contact, both going still. Bellamy finds himself holding his breath, watching the two face each other across the kitchen. Raven is still wearing her heavy coat and winter boots, snow clinging to the soles. Clarke's hair is escaping from her topknot, curling a little from the heat in the kitchen, and there's a little pancake batter on her cheek.

The silence stretches out, different from the heavy silence that's been suffocating them all night, this one full of tension and uncertainty.

“I guess I'll do the dishes,” Raven says. And then just like that, she's shrugging out of her coat and rolling up her sleeves, stomping over to the sink, the water finally running hot, steaming when it hits the basin. Clarke has to step out of her way to make room. She hesitates there, passing the dish soap over when Raven reaches for it.

“Do you want some coffee?” Clarke asks. If Bellamy didn't know every fluctuation in Clarke's voice, he'd think she sounds steady.

“God, please,” Raven says, now up to her elbows in sudsy, hot water. Clarke pours her a cup of coffee; they're down to the mugs Jasper and some of his high school friends had painted after consuming a large tray of pot brownies, which means they're ugly as shit. Bellamy notices the fond look Raven sends it when Clarke places it on the counter next to her. After a moment of hesitation, Clarke picks up the hand towel on the other side of the sink.

“I'll dry.”

It's not a question, and Bellamy watches Raven look over at her, ponytail swinging slightly. For a moment, she's entirely quiet.

“Okay.” And then Raven's looking at him instead. “Bellamy be useful and go collect people's dishes.”

So then he has no choice but to leave them there, while he goes back to the living room and starts clearing away plates and empty coffee mugs and dropping them back off in the kitchen. Raven and Clarke are talking quietly, and he only catches snippets, not enough to understand what's being said, but no one is yelling and no one is crying, so he takes that as a good sign.

When he finishes, he returns to the living room, because he can't think of a good excuse to hover in the kitchen and keep an eye on Raven and Clarke. The food appears to have had a sedating effect, because everyone but Jasper and Gina are asleep, sprawled out on various pieces of furniture. Murphy is just sprawled out on the rug, arms pillowed under his head; someone has tossed a small throw blanket over him, which only covers him from mid chest to mid thigh.

Gina and Jasper are still sitting on the couch. Bellamy isn't sure Jasper has moved once, all night. He steps over Murphy to join them. Gina's eyes are all rimmed red.

“Go lie down,” he murmurs to her, “I'll sit.”

It's a testament to how tired they all are that she does so without comment, nudging Emori's legs out of the way on the loveseat, so she can curl up next to her. It's so quiet in here, Bellamy can just make out the sound of dishes clinking in the sink in the kitchen. Next to him, Jasper is sitting very straight, almost carefully, like if he moves an inch, he might just collapse. This is the hard part.

“Hey,” Bellamy puts a hand on his shoulder. At the best of times, Jasper is thin, but he feels painfully so under Bellamy's hand, just skin and bones.

“Did you get any sleep?”

When Jasper looks at him, his eyes focus slow, like he had been somewhere else entirely. “No. I don't want to.”

“Okay.” Bellamy's not going to argue with him; now isn't the time.

“She would have liked this, that you all showed up.”

“Of course we did.” Bellamy doesn't know what else to say to that. They haven't been particularly useful, but they're here.

Jasper looks around, as if seeing the scene surrounding him for the first time, everyone tucked into the room, mostly asleep. His eyes glisten slightly.

“You guys should go home, get some real rest.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Someone will stay. We'll take turns.”

“No, it's okay. Maya's mom is coming to pick me up at nine. We have some-” the breath in Jasper's chest stutters slightly, “arrangements to finish up. For the memorial.” It's almost eight thirty, now.

“I'm going to take a shower,” Jasper says, getting slowly to his feet.

“I'll get everyone up,” Bellamy tells him. Jasper nods once, a little absent, then begins to move across the room, picking his way around the sleeping forms of their friends. His shoulders are hunched forward, like he's collapsing in on himself, and Bellamy feels helpless watching him. The truth is, there's nothing anyone can do to lift the weight that's curving his spine; it takes time.

Bellamy begins the task of rousing all his friends to send them home. They wake, grumbling and generally disheveled, annoyed at Bellamy's interruption of their sleep. It takes tremendous effort to gain momentum, propelling them towards the front door, explaining that Jasper will be leaving shortly and they can sleep in their own bed, gathering up their outerwear that's scattered alarmingly widely around the door.

At some point, while everyone is stumbling sleepily around putting on winter coats and boots, Raven and Clarke come back into the living room, Clarke slipping up to him and passing him a second cup of coffee. She really is a godsend.

“How did that go?” Bellamy asks, keeping his voice low. He'd be lying if he said he hasn't been worrying.

“Okay.” Clarke seems to mean that. She looks about five minutes from collapse, but he's pretty sure that just has to do with the night they've had.

“That's all I get?”

“Raven... apologized.”

Bellamy chokes on his coffee. “She did?”

Clarke hesitates, watching Murphy have a rather violent battle with his coat. “Well, she looked at me for a scary amount of time and then said, 'At least Finn maintained his high level of taste when he was stabbing us in the back.' So... I think that's what that was.”

“Well, fuck.” Bellamy can't think of anything else to say. Considering the circumstances, that's practically a declaration of love.

  
  


The whole group manages to exit the household just moments before Jasper himself, boots crunching in snow, breath pluming out in front of them. They disperse on the sidewalk, scattering to their various vehicles. Bellamy silently laments the quality of Clarke's car's heater. He's not sure it's doing anything at all.

Clarke drops him off at his apartment, but doesn't stay. She promised Harper she'd drive her and Monty to his mother's, since Harper's car is in the shop. Bellamy hates to see her go, after the night they've had, but he understands.

“I can call Harper, they can take an Uber or something.” Clarke says, when she pulls the car in in front of the apartment, chewing on her bottom lip and watching him with anxious eyes.

“Don't. It's okay. All I'm going to do is sleep, anyway.”

“I'll be back in the evening,” Clarke tells him, still looking concerned.

“I'll be here.” Bellamy steps out of the car and half jogs into his apartment building, which is blessedly better heated than Clarke's abomination of a car. Inside his own apartment, Bellamy kicks off his shoes and falls straight into bed, and finally, finally into the blissful arms of sleep.

* * *

Octavia comes over in the late afternoon, shortly after Bellamy forces himself back out of bed. He's lost count of how many cups of coffee he's had to drink. Octavia looks tired too, maybe up almost as late as she was, and she hugs him a little tighter than usual when she arrives.

“How's Jasper?” she murmurs into his shoulder.

“Not good.” Bellamy doesn't know what else to tell her. Octavia's never spent much time with Maya, but she's known Jasper her whole life.

“It's just really not fair,” Octavia sighs, pulling back from him and dabbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Octavia doesn't cry often, never in public. Bellamy gives her a second to collect herself while he gets them drinks from the kitchen, coffee for Octavia, water for himself. If he has another cup of coffee today, he may have a heart attack.

What Bellamy should be doing is catching up on the work he put off yesterday, but he can't find the energy to get up and get out his laptop, much less to even try to turn his brain to “work” mode. Octavia is uncharacteristically quiet, sitting with her legs pulled up to chest and scrolling through her phone. He assumes it's a result of exhaustion and the news about Maya.

For his part, Bellamy's trying to read Dickens, but he's been rereading the same sentence over and over for fifteen minutes straight, uncomprehending. Perhaps he should switch to something that takes even less concentration. His brain feels like it's still working in slow motion.

If it weren't for the words themselves, it would almost be a relief when Octavia says-

“I need to talk to you about something.” Octavia tucks her hair behind her ears, a nervous tic of hers that immediately makes Bellamy nervous as well. “I know... it's not a good time, but it'll be out of my hands to keep to myself soon and I want you to hear it from me.” Bellamy's heart drops.

“Are you pregnant?”

“No!” Octavia says quickly. “No, that's not it.”

The relief is so strong, Bellamy almost misses what she says next.

“I'm not going to college, Bell.” Octavia's voice is soft in a way that Bellamy has rarely ever heard it, not her usual, bold self, but not unsure either, just soft. Then the words catch up.

“What?”

“I took a job with this traveling artist's activist coalition. They do large scale instillations all over the world. They need people who can build things, and I'll get to travel. I start part time next week, so I won't be over here as much.”

“I'm sorry, it sounded like you just said you're not going to college.”

“Bell, don't.”

“You can't be serious.” There's this sort of twisted, terrible feeling low in his gut and Bellamy isn't sure if he wants to throw up or scream or maybe both.

The softness goes out of Octavia. She crosses her arms and sets her jaw and for a moment, Bellamy feels as if he's looking in a mirror, but then his annoyance overpowers everything else, turning panicked around the edges.

“You can't just give up on college, Octavia.”

“It's not giving up. I haven't _started_ college.” She takes a deep breath. “I know that for you, college was always this big dream. And you did it. And I know that you saw that for me too, but I'm not like you. I don't love school like you do. I don't know what I want. And I don't want to spend all your money on waffling around at college when I could be out there figuring it out.”

Bellamy feels as if his brain has short circuited. He knows he wants to argue with this, but he feels at a disadvantage, sleep deprived, still a little hungover, reeling from losing a friend. He doesn't know how to face this.

“I don't know how to talk about this right now,” Bellamy says. He's not sure he'll know how to talk about it ever. But he knows he can't do it today.

“That's fine.” Octavia stands up. “There's nothing to talk about. I'm not asking for your permission. I'm just letting you know.”

She storms out before Bellamy can say anything else, which is probably a good thing, since he cannot think of one single thing to say that would make any of this any better.

  
  


“And then she just marched out,” Bellamy recounts to Clarke, three hours later. Ever since Octavia had left, he's been replaying the conversation over and over in his head, trying to make sense of it all. Should he have seen this coming? College for Octavia has never been a question in Bellamy's mind. She's always been smart enough, and Bellamy was never going to let the expense get in her way. It had never once occurred to him that she would just choose not to go.

Clarke's quiet, his head in her lap, her fingers in his hair. They're both stretched thin, exhausted from the previous night, like ghosts of themselves, clinging to each other.

“Are you about to tell me I'm wrong?” Bellamy asks, because maybe that would explain the twisty feeling in his gut. He's angry, but he feels kind of sick and guilty too.

“I'm about to tell you that I don't think you're upset about what you think you're upset about.”

“Meaning?”

“How long have you been saving for Octavia's college?” Clarke asks.

“Since I was fourteen.” He remembers that, his first job, not strictly legal, washing dishes and sweeping floors and scrubbing down countertops at a local diner. It had been miserable, the back where the sinks were was far too cold, so his hands would turn bright red and his fingers would go numb, the front where the ovens were was always too hot, a layer of sweat perpetually on the back of his neck. It had just been the first in a long line of many jobs he'd worked.

He doesn't know where it comes from, it just all starts bubbling up and out, things he's never told her because it hadn't seemed important, just part of his past, facts too mundane to bother with.

“At a diner. They had to lie about my age to get around child labor laws. Then I was a gas station clerk and worked nights; I had to go straight from my job to high school. One summer I was a lifeguard and a cook at McDonald's. I did manual labor on a farm, and then I worked construction. In college I worked in the mailroom and as a tutor. I haven't _not_ had a job since I was fourteen. But it was always okay, because Octavia wouldn't have to do any of that. She could join sports teams and clubs and not go to school without sleep. She could go to college and not be swamped in debt. It was worth it, for her.” Bellamy doesn't even realize there are tears on his cheeks until Clarke brushes them away, her fingers gentle against his cheek. He didn't know any of this was waiting, at the base of his sternum, like a flood, released with the crack of his ribs.

“And it's like... after all of that, none of it mattered. I failed her. She doesn't even want it.”

“Octavia rejecting the money isn't her rejecting you.”

But it feels like it. Every job he's ever taken, every crappy day he slogged through, sleepless nights, frigid fingers, sunburns, a broken arm, it had been done in service of this dream he'd had for her.

“It was all for nothing, then.” He feels detached from the realization, like it's very far away.

“No it wasn't, Bell. That money is still there. It's _yours_ , and you can do anything you want with it. You could go to grad school, or start a company, or buy a house, whatever the hell you want.”

“Or I could try to talk Octavia out of this job and back in to college.” He knows it won't work, even as he says it. Octavia isn't the sort of person who looks back once she's made a decision; she's always moving forward.

Clarke sighs. “You know how you get mad when I tell you about the pressure of my mom's expectations and feeling like I'm not allowed to be my own person and make my own decisions or want other things?”

Bellamy feels his throat constrict. It's the nail in a coffin he doesn't want to accept.

“Fuck.”

They're both quiet for a few moments, letting the last breaths of his plans peter out and die. He can't be that person to Octavia, no matter how much he believes she's making a mistake. He can't do that to her. Clarke leans over him to kiss his cheek.

“Things will look better tomorrow,” she murmurs.

Bellamy doubts that. “Tomorrow is Maya's funeral.”

“Right.” Clarke closes her eyes. “Then maybe the day after that. Or if not then, someday.”

“You know, I didn't really take you for a full out optimist, Griffin.”

Clarke's lips tilt up at the edges. “Cute.”

It's only nine, but Bellamy feels like all his limbs weigh a little too much, like he's being dragged downward by more than just the normal force of gravity. It's been a long day, one of the worst he can remember in a long time.

“Let's go to bed and not think about it,” he suggests, forcing his body into a sitting position. Clarke gets to her feet and holds out a hand for him to follow.

“Whatever the hell you want.”

* * *

Maya Vie's funeral is by far the weirdest Bellamy's ever attended.

“She planned it all herself,” Jasper tells him, subdued, but some of his usual light has returned to his eyes, like the memory of Maya warms him up from within. “She was very particular about it.”

First of all, no one's allowed to wear black “unless you have a kick ass leather jacket or something,” bright colors, white, glitter, and jewel tones are all highly recommended. “Literally wear anything but what you'd normally see at a funeral” had been part of the instructions.

She'd chosen to have the service at a community building at her favorite park, a thirty minute drive outside of town. It's a small structure with exposed wooden beams and cozy yellow light from old electric bulbs. It feels more like a cabin than a funeral parlor, which Bellamy supposes is precisely the point.

In lieu of flowers, Maya had requested donations to several local activist groups, so there are no decorations at the funeral. This doesn't seem to matter, once the attendees arrive, a veritable explosion of color. Emori is wearing an asymmetrical blue dress and is covered in body glitter. Gina's dressed in a floor length green gown that Bellamy is pretty sure was part of her “fairy queen” outfit at Halloween last year. Octavia has, predictably, taken the opportunity to show off her “kick ass leather jacket” but she's also accessorized with blue butterfly jewelry. Murphy appears to have actually dressed as a pirate, knee high leather boots and all.

Clarke's all in white, with snowdrops woven into her hair. _Maya told me they were her favorite_ , she'd explained, while Bellamy had watched her carefully place them. She's so beautiful, Bellamy can hardly take her eyes off her, which he feels a little bit guilty about, considering the circumstances, but then... Maya would probably approve.

The ceremony is led by Maya's mother, who is dressed in a long red dress with silver bangles all up and down her arms. She has a warm, if deeply sad, smile that makes Bellamy wish he could get up and give her a hug. He can't imagine what this must be like for her.

“Maya didn't want a regular funeral,” her mother says, arms spread out like she's welcoming them all, “which is probably quite clear, looking the way that we all do.” Bellamy swears her eyes linger on Murphy and his billowy peasant top.

“She didn't want readings or hymns. She just wanted us all together. She refused to let me pin down any sort of structure for this. She just wanted anyone who wants to talk to be able to, an... open mic, of sorts. And then she wanted us all to have a drink. That's it. So... I leave it open you.”

Jasper is the first to step up. He looks a little pale, but present, and that's better than Bellamy expected. The day of his own mother's funeral, the day he met Clarke, is mostly a blur to him, like he'd spent the whole day somewhere else. All he remembers now is the way Clarke had smiled and how much he'd liked it.

It goes on for a little over an hour, people standing up from the audience to tell a story, or talk about their favorite memory, one by one, filtering past the mic at the front of the room. Bellamy's favorite memory of Maya is when she'd told him she didn't like Finn and that she trusted him about Clarke, but that doesn't seem like an appropriate story for the public, so he tells another about the time Maya had dropped everything to help him replace his kitchen sink and they'd both completely fucked it up. It had probably cost him twice as much to have fixed than if they hadn't done anything.

After, Maya's mother takes over again, passing out bottles of Maya's favorite beer from the largest cooler Bellamy's ever seen. There are seltzer waters for anyone who doesn't drink, but as far as he can tell it's only Maya's little cousins who end up with it. Jasper raises his glass, and everyone else follows suit. He has tear tracks on his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes, but he's smiling a little.

“To Maya Vie, who we never deserved, but who put up with us anyway!”

There's a roar of approval and then the clinking of glasses. They can all drink to that. There are several more toasts, including a particularly inappropriate but hilarious one from Murphy that Bellamy can't repeat, and then things begin to dissolve, the attendees breaking into groups to chat or hike back through the snow to their cars in their generally seasonally inappropriate outfits.

Just past Murphy and Emori, Bellamy catches a glimpse of his sister, talking to one of Maya's cousins. Octavia crosses her arms when she sees him. He doesn't think she'll start a fight here, but he's sure she'll finish one. He doesn't want to fight. He just wants a moment to talk to her.

By the time he makes his way through the crowd, Clarke trailing him with their fingers tangled together, Maya's cousin is engaged in a conversation with someone else and Octavia is clearly waiting for him. She looks battle ready in her leather jacket.

“Hey,” he tries, wondering if she'll just pretend he's not there entirely. Clarke squeezes his hand softly, an silent encouragement.

“Hi,” Octavia says shortly.

“Still not going to college?” Bellamy asks. Just to be sure. After all, this would all be much easier if Octavia had changed her mind.

“Still not going to college.” There's a challenge in Octavia's voice. She's expecting to fight with him on this. Bellamy nods to himself. He didn't expect any different. He's not exactly okay with it yet, but he's trying to be.

“I might, then.”

Octavia stares at him. Next to him, Clarke inhales sharply. There's something incredibly satisfying about surprising them.

“I haven't decided yet,” he adds. He'd said it on impulse, something he hasn't yet let himself really want. Octavia can't seem to think of anything to say to that.

“Send me your schedule when you have it,” Bellamy continues, “You're not getting out of weekend visits entirely.”

“Okay.” Octavia is still staring at him like he's grown a second head. They have more to talk about, ultimately, but not here, not now.

Maya's mother approaches them with a hug for Bellamy and another for Clarke, though the two have never met. She stays for a few moments, teary eyed, but smiling, before slipping away and when Bellamy looks back, Octavia is gone.

He feels exhausted, suddenly, stretched too thin, like all of the emotional highs and lows he's been through over the past day have wrung him dry. He feels it in the dip of his shoulders.

“Let's go home,” Clarke suggests, and even in this state, it lights up a little ember of warmth in his chest to hear her say that. It flares when he looks at her, steady and sure, with flowers in her hair.

“Yeah, let's.”

They're almost to the door when he catches Raven's eye across the crowd. He hesitates, tugging Clarke to a stop next to him. It's something about the look on Raven's face, more vulnerable than he's used to seeing her. She's sliding between people, angled in his direction. Bellamy can't quite place her expression.

When she reaches him, she hugs him, standing on her tiptoes to do so. Bellamy's so surprised, he barely has time to hug her back before she's sinking back onto the balls of her feet, backing up a step. She's never been that much of a hugger. Raven hesitates, looking to Clarke. For one moment, Bellamy is worried.

Then Raven takes one step forward and hugs Clarke too. It's a brief, slightly awkward, one armed sort of affair. If Bellamy weren't seeing it, he wouldn't believe it. Again, Raven steps back. She looks them over once, nods to herself, and then-

“That's all,” Raven says, and then she turns on her heel and slides away into the crowd. The expression on Clarke's face is so stunned, Bellamy begins to laugh.

  
  


Outside, it's raining. They dash through the downpour, dodging the water puddling on the sidewalk, and melting the snow. They climb into Clarke's car, shivering and damp, Bellamy shaking water out of his hair. Clarke's dress has gone a little translucent in places.

Clarke starts the car and fiddles with the windshield wipers, while Bellamy pulls out his phone. He has a couple missed texts from his boss, but he doesn't feel like answering them right now. Out of habit, he checks his email, fully intending to ignore any work emails there. Instead, his heart jumps into his throat, and he must say something because Clarke turns to look at him.

“What is it?”

Wordlessly, Bellamy turns the phone to her. There's an email with Maya's name as the title. On closer inspection, Bellamy thinks it might have been sent by her mother. Surprise flickers across Clarke's face. She doesn't say anything, but Bellamy can read in her expression that she wants him to open it. He supposes he wants that too, but there's something a little terrifying about it. They're still sitting just outside her memorial, listening to Clarke's car struggle and rattle ominously.

There's no text in the email, just an attached video file with a black thumbnail. Heart beating in his ears, Bellamy taps on it. There are several breathless moments while it downloads and then Maya is blinking back at them.

“Hey guys,” the Maya that appears on screen looks a little sheepish, but her eyes are bright. “I get this is kind of morbid and everything. I hope none of you are too mad at me for my decision. I just didn't want everything to be different. I wanted to hang out at the bar, and get my nails done with Gina, and make fun of Murphy for his terrible trivia questions, and not have this _thing_ hanging over every interaction with everyone in my life. It's been hard on Jas, though, not being able to talk about it, and that's the only part I regret. Be there for him, okay? I know you guys will be, but I still have to ask it. I chose to live this time like nothing's wrong, and I think maybe that's prevented him from doing any processing, and,” she tears up a little, but swallows it back, “I hate so much that I'm leaving him and there's nothing I can do to make sure he's okay. That's what I need you all for. Anyway, I wanted to make this because I didn't get say goodbye to any of you, and that sucks, right?

“So this is it, I guess. I feel like I'm supposed to say something really deep or enlightening, but it turns out dying doesn't really make you any smarter than you already are. Just... Be kind to each other. Do good when you can. Don't forget you don't know when it all might be over. I'm gonna stop now before I remind myself of those bullshit _live, laugh, love_ signs.

“I'm asking my mom send this out after the funeral, because I thought it would be a dick move to make you walk in there and sit through a service directly after getting this. I just really wanted to say goodbye. So, goodbye. I love you all. May we meet again.”

Maya grins. It's filled with all the warmth she always exuded. “But not too soon, okay?”

The screen cuts to black.

They sit in silence for who knows how long, Bellamy holding his phone out in front of him like Maya might suddenly appear back on screen with more to say. When his hand starts to shake he puts the phone down in his lap. He doesn't know how he feels exactly- tired and sad and hopeful and scared all at once. They're here at an ending for someone who deserved more, and the entire world is open in front of them.

“So...” Clarke says, her head tilted back against the headrest, watching the rain on the windshield. “Grad school?”

Bellamy huffs. He really hadn't known he was going to say that. “Yeah, maybe.”

He thinks about his missed texts from his boss and the stack of papers in his apartment and the way his work email is overflowing, even though today is the first day he's taken off in months.

“Or maybe I'll just quit my job and figure it out from there.”

It's always felt like a dream, not something he could actually do, but now... He's not sure what he's waiting for. In so many ways, he's in the exact same place he was two years ago, in Clarke's car outside a funeral that's gutted him. It's raining, and it's cold, and her heater is still crappy. He hates his job, he's scared for his sister, he wants to go home and sleep and sleep and sleep. But his suit fits this time.

“Whatever you choose, we'll get through it together,” Clarke murmurs, eyes turned to him, warm and sure and unflinching. That's the real difference, between now two years ago, the thing that draws him firmly into the present and roots him there. Now, this time, there's him and Clarke, here with each other, _for_ each other. And that makes all the difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are again, at the end of another fic!
> 
> I hope it delivers enough soft bellarke for you. I know it’s got some angstier parts, but you guys knew I had to have another funeral in here, right? I hope losing Maya wasn’t too upsetting! I actually waffled a few times about it because overall this fic for me was about living in a softer space, but it was always my original plan and I felt like I needed to stick to it. A couple other characters were considered as well, but this is just what I felt worked best. I knew for a long time what I wanted the ending scene to be, and I just couldn’t bring myself to sacrifice that. I did have several days where I just stared at it all and was like “have I completely gone in the wrong direction??” but I just had to put those doubts aside and trust that this is where I meant for things to end up. shfdjksdhfjksdf. 
> 
> “Fun?” fact: Maya’s funeral is based loosely off of a funeral I attended in high school for a close friend’s parent (who also died of cancer) who had planned it himself and it was basically a giant party, and I always felt like it felt much more genuine that we were all remembering him and celebrating his life, rather than being so somber and mourning his death. Anyway, it really stuck with me and I thought about how if I knew that I was dying, I would want to plan something like that. 
> 
> I can't believe this fic is finally finished! It was never meant to be this long, but it shouldn't be a surprise that something got longer than I intended skdjfksdf. I miss Bellamy Blake so much, so if you miss him like I do, maybe this can feed you a little bit.

**Author's Note:**

> uuuummm... hi? I still exist, in case any of you were wondering. I know... it's been a really, really long time. 
> 
> so basically, I'm breaking my own rules and posting some stuff that I haven't finished writing, maybe because the quarantine is making me a little itchy to accomplish things and get stuff out and there and anyway, here we are. I haven't finished this piece, but I do have most of the next part done. I'm guessing it'll be about 4 parts. hope you enjoy! 
> 
> come hang out with me on [tumblr!](https://grumpybell.tumblr.com/)


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